Holy Rome's Death and Italy's Memories
by Miss Vampire Authoress
Summary: It's been years since HRE left, and now Italy is a teenager, awaiting his return. But when Italy makes a stunning realization, he must risk everything to gain his independence. If he doesn't, he may lose the love of his life forever. Watch Italy fight for his freedom and his love against his lover, HRE. I Own Nothing.
1. Chapter 1

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 1—Confusion as of late**

**A/N: Okay, so you know how some people speculate that Italy may not remember much of his childhood after HRE left for war. Like, apparently, some fans think he suppressed his memories because of the trauma of losing HRE or something like that. Well, this story is my theory as to why Italy can't remember anything and what I think happened to HRE. Don't let the title fool ya, you'll never guess what happens! **

**The story begins at Austria's house, when Italy is in his early teens in appearance.**

Italy swept the regal halls of Austria's house quietly; the only sounds filling the air were the ones of broom bristles scraping the marble floor and Italy's girlish hums. It was early morning and he was just starting his chores of the day. However, the announcement Master Austria had made at breakfast was weighing on his young mind.

Italy had been enjoying the breakfast Ms. Hungary had made for him, when suddenly Austria stood from his seat, drawing everyone's attention.

"I have received a letter from the war front," the regal nation began. Immediately, Italy was on the edge of his seat. Was it from Holy Rome? Was he okay? Was he coming back? Those were the questions Italy wanted to scream, but held his tongue as to not delay the answers. Austria sighed heavily.

"Holy Rome is fighting his hardest. He hopes to end the war soon…However…things are not looking good." Austria said solemnly.

"Poor Holy Rome." Italy said unconsciously. Hungary suddenly turned and gave Italy a weird look. Italy was rather surprised to notice the look was that of shock.

What? Had he accidentally sprayed it and not say it? Was their food on his face?

Italy's string of mental questions was cut short by Austria's voice.

"I know, Italy. But I'm sure Holy Rome will return to us soon." Austria replied to Italy's statement as he retook his seat. Italy was slightly confused by the odd feeling that churned his stomach at Austria's words. But nonetheless he replied back.

"That will be nice—" Italy stopped short of himself as he realized how forced his words sounded. Italy shook it off quickly, however, and continued to eat his breakfast.

Italy tried to shake off the odd feelings that had over come him this morning. He had never reacted to news about Holy Roman Empire that way. He was always ecstatic about it; even if it was bad news, Italy always tried to be optimistic. It had been like that for years…until this morning. Italy didn't know why, but for some reason, he wasn't very happy with idea of Holy Rome coming home.

Don't think wrong of him. It wasn't as if Italy didn't want Holy Rome to come back—after all, Italy had promised to wait for Holy Rome as long as it took—but Italy just couldn't find the will to feel happy about the prospect of it any more. Italy didn't know why he felt like this, or what had changed. Something just didn't seem right.

Italy finished the hallway he had been sweeping and decided to move on to the next. He was just turning the corner and was only a few steps into the new hallway when suddenly tow arms shot out from behind some drapes and dragged him into an alcove.

"Ve~! Ow~!" The cross-dressing Italian whined as the back of his head banged against the wall. Italy was just about to ask why the heck someone would do something so mean, when suddenly Hungary shouted in a hushed voice, "What was up with you at breakfast!"

Italy blinked dumbly for several seconds before understanding dawned on him.

Italy grimaced and tried his best to explain his odd behavior to Miss Hungary.

"Well, you see—um, well…I just don't—I mean—" It was harder than he thought.

Hungary glaring at him viciously wasn't helping, either. After several failed attempts to explain himself, Hungary blew her top.

"WHY DID YOU STOP LOVING HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE!" Hungary shouted at the boy. Italy gaped at her question!

Not love Holy Roman Empire any more? That was crazy!

Even if Italy had been less than enthusiastic about his return, he knew that he still loved him! That's why Italy had been so confused in the first place by his own actions!

He still loved HRE! SO why would the thought of his return displease him so?

When HRE returns, Italy and his love will be reunited forever! That was the thing Italy had been looking forward to for years; so why had his reactions changed?

Italy's silence only spurned Hungary to continue her tirade on the young nation's behavior and lack of maturity and emotional reaction!

Italy, however, so consumed in his own thoughts, only heard bits and pieces.

"HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE LOVES—WHY DID YOU ACT SO COLDLY—SO INSINCERE—DON'T YOU WANT TO MARRY HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE?"

Hungary's last words broke through Italy's mental barrier, causing him to stop his train of thought, as well as sending a surge of—what? Disgust?—through Italy's mind and body. Apparently, it showed.

Hungary's rage increased ten-fold. But before she could even get a word in, Italy surprised her with an unexpected question.

"What do you mean marry Holy Roman Empire?" Italy asked in an almost quivering voice. Hungary, for the first time during their conversation, examined Italy.

He was shaking slightly, as if he was scared—probably was considering Hungary was yelling at him.

His usually happy-smiley face was creased with worry, fear, and confusion. How odd, Hungary noted.

What was stranger, though, was the look in Italy's eyes. Never had she seen such a look in anyone's eye, not even in the worst of times or even in battle.

In Italy's usually bright or shut eyes, was a swirling pool of self-conflict, love, hate, disgust, worry, and confusion. Hungary would have hugged the boy if it weren't for her lingering anger. Instead, Hungary answered Italy as best she could.

"Well, Holy Roman Empire loves you—everyone knows that. So it's to be expected that if and when Holy Roman Empire comes back, you two will marry." Hungary explained with a frown. Hadn't Italy known this? She knew the boy was a tad dense, but still?

Hungary felt her worry increase 100 fold as Italy's eyes widened with shock and horror.

"But-But that would mean we would become one nation…that I would become an—an—" Italy couldn't even choke out the word. Hungary furrowed her brow in confusion before stating cautiously, "Yes, you would become an Empire, Italy."

Before Hungary could even blink, Italy was fleeing out from the alcove and down the hall. Hungary felt a horrible, deep sense of foreboding over take her as she watched the slowly disappearing back of Italy as he fled.

"Dear God," Hungary prayed. "Let Italy and Holy Roman Empire be okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 2—Italy thinks things through—WTF!**

**(A/N: By now any of you who have read the first chapter are probably thinking Italy and maybe some other so-far mentioned characters are OOC. I will apologize for making any characters seem too serious, silly, immature, dumb, smart, and/or strong. But I will argue that the creator of Hetalia has said that Italy is stronger than he usually acts, he's just too scared to use it.)**

Italy tried not to think about it for days. He tried to occupy his mind as much as possible to keep the subject far from his thoughts. He did more chores than usual, sometimes sweeping the same hall three times in one day, and he spent a lot of time drawing and cooking. By the end of the month, Italy had filled five notebooks, made over a dozen paintings, and had resorted to stress eating. Hungary worried deeply for him, having forgotten about all her anger towards the Italian. But Italy avoided her like the plague, sometimes even going as far as running away at the very sight of her.

Everyone, including the human servants, had noticed Italy's odd behavior…except for Austria. Austria, thinking Italy was a girl as many others did, simply thought it was lady troubles. This terrified him due to bad memories of Belgium, Ukraine, and Belarus' puberties centuries before—scariest century ever by the way—so he avoided Italy like Italy did Hungary, who in turn vented to Austria about Italy needing to be talked with. Austria would misinterpret this and would end up avoiding Hungary, too.

To put it simply, things at Austria's house were freakin' complicated.

Italy sighed heavily as he filled in the last page of yet _another_ notebook. Tossing the notebook over to the other side of his desk, Italy decided to take a siesta. This would be his first one in a week, surprisingly. He had been so paranoid about his thoughts wandering to HRE's possible return that he had even started to skip his naps. But Italy had nothing else to do, having already done his chores three times, been banned from the kitchen and placed on a diet, and turned every piece of blank paper in Austria's house with a beautiful Italian piece of art. A nap was his only option—hopefully his thoughts wouldn't betray him.

Italy stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the covers. Italy closed his eyes and let his mind go blank. Within in few minutes, he was fast asleep.

**Italy's dream…**

**Italy sat in the stands of the coliseum in Ancient Rome. It was the aristocrat section and he was sitting in-between his Grandpa Rome and a Senator. A Gladiator was fighting with a lion in the arena. ****It may have been barbaric, but as a young child Italy loved to go to "Circus & Bread" day. But everyone was a little barbaric in those days, so it was okay.**

**Italy cheered loudly as the lion leapt at the gladiator. The gladiator held his shield up in defense, blocking the razor sharp claws of the big cat. Italy and his Grandpa booed. ****The big cat kept at it though, eventually sinking his teeth into the shield and trying to rip it from the gladiator's grasp. **"**Ve~! Smart kitty!" Italy yelled with enthusiasm. Cheers roared through the coliseum.**

**After a struggle, the gladiator was forced to abandon his shield so he could get away from the lion. The fight was getting interesting, much to Italy and the audience's pleasure. ****The lion leapt at the Gladiator, yet again. Italy cheered with the Romans, guiltily enjoying the horrific show.****Italy shut his eyes like he usually did as he cheered for a brief moment.**

**Canon fire made his amber eyes snap open.**

**Italy was no longer in the coliseum…he was on a battle field. ****All traces of joy left his system. **

**It felt real, Italy thought to himself. He could smell gunpowder and sweat in the air, along with death and fear. The air was warm with gunfire and heat radiating from adrenaline filled soldiers. Italy could hear canon and gunfire nearby. Battle cries and screams of agony filled the air. Italy could practically feel kicked up dirt and grime and gunpowder settle on his face, hair, and clothes. ****The sight before him was even more vivid, making Italy sick to his stomach.**

**Italy was standing in the middle of a war; one of the things he feared most in the world.**

**Italy felt tears prick the corner of his eyes and bile rise in the back of his throat. But, before he could wretch his guts out, a familiar figure emerged from the smoke of the battlefield. ****Italy's eyes widened as the figure's features became clearer. The figure was blond, about Italy's age, only taller, and had a hard set face. Italy felt tears streak down his face. He...he knew this person. He was—**

"**Italy." The figure said monotonously. Italy didn't care and instead let a huge smile spread over his tear covered face. **

"**Holy Ro—" Italy's joyfull call was cut off by Holy Roman Empire's angry voice.**

"**Don't call me that, traitor!" Holy Roman Empire screamed furiously. Italy stared in shock at the Germanic boy's ferocity. **

"**What do you mean, Holy—" Italy asked softly, but was cut off by HRE once again.**

"**YOU BETRAYED ME! YOU HATE ME! SO, I HATE YOU!" HRE screamed at Italy. Italy froze.**

**He betrayed Holy Roman Empire?..._Impossible._**

**Right?**

**He hated Holy Roman Empire?...Where did HRE get such an idea? That was completely ludicrous! Italy LOVED HRE!**

…**Holy Roman Empire hated Italy?...No…No…It can't be…No! No! NO!**

**Italy shook his head furiously. IT COULDN'T BE TRUE! THIS WASN'T REAL!**

**NO~!**

Italy awoke covered in sweat and tangled in his sheets. He was breathing heavily and his face was wet…Wait. His face was wet…but not with sweat… Italy brought a hand up to wipe his cheeks free of tears. Italy felt more tears run down his cheeks, though, so instead using his hands, began wiping his face with his blanket. He had been crying in his sleep. Why?...Oh right, the dream. Italy felt more tears gush out from behind his eyes as he thought back on his horrific nightmare. It had felt so real and so horrible. The battlefield made him feel scared and vulnerable, while Holy Roman Empire's words made his heart break.

Was it true?

Was it _all _true?

Italy shook his head in frustration. Of coarse _none _of it was true! What was he thinking!

Italy got out of bed and grabbed his bathrobe, deciding to take a bath before dinner.

Running his finger through his now wet hair, Italy mulled over whether or not he should even begin to think about his dream. On one hand, he was scared of what he would conclude from it. On the other, if he just tried to forget about it, it would just add to his already high stress levels. Italy didn't think he could take much more stress, so he took the leap and began to think about everything that happened in his nightmare.

After finishing his mental recap, Italy felt more tears begin to fall. Damn it! Why did he have to be born so sensitive! Italy shook his head in aggravation and dunked his head under the water quickly, so to erase his tears. After resurfacing, Italy decided to STOP crying and actually think things through. Keeping a stiff upper lip, Italy wondered where to begin thinking. He had never really thought about it—or really anything besides pasta—so deeply; so where to begin?

Italy thought long and hard about where to start thinking long and hard about his predicament regarding his feelings towards Holy Roman Empire. Eventually, the water in the tub grew cold causing Italy to shiver violently and forcing him out of the water. Italy returned to his room, got dressed in the nightgown Austria and Hungary provided him, and layed down on his messy bed to continue thinking.

Italy finally decided to start with the possibility of Holy Roman Empire returning. The thought of it by it's self was wonderful. Italy could just imagine Holy Rome coming through Austria's door one day, their eyes meeting, and finally embracing and sharing a kiss just like the one from years before. Italy blushed slightly at his thought. Yes, Italy was happy with the idea of Holy Roman Empire coming home.

Now, the prospect of marriage. Italy didn't know what to think of that. There were two sides to marriage when it came to nations, after all.

Usually nations married only when their countries were united under the same monarchy or became one nation. These marriages rarely lasted more than a few centuries, and were more often than not passionless unions between the Nation-tans. Then there was the rare occurrence that nations married for love. This had happened only a few times in history, but all were successful, giving way to many children and staying together till their deaths.

Italy supposed that his Holy Roman Empire's marriage was the second kind.

Italy smiled as he thought of a long life with Holy Roman Empire! They would get married and be one nation! They would be together forever, as the Holy Roman-Italian Em—pire~…

Italy's smile fell as he thought the last word. Why was thought of becoming an empire so nauseating? Italy asked himself. Surely it wasn't so bad to become an Empire—Italy groaned as his stomach suddenly lurched. Clutching his stomach, Italy realized something horrible; the thought of becoming an Empire made him sick to his stomach. No, WORSE, it disgusted him! Not only that, it_ terrified_ him, he realized as the pain in his stomach grew more intense.

Several minutes later, after having cried out all his pain, Italy tried to accept his new revelation.

Just because he didn't want be an Empire didn't mean he couldn't be with Holy Roman Empire, right! Italy felt happier as he thought this. Yes, he could still be with HRE, even if it meant they just didn't get married! Sure, Holy Roman Empire would be upset about that, but surely he would consider Italy's feelings and accept it, right?

…Right?...

Italy's happiness was replaced by worry and anxiety as he asked him self whether HRE would accept such terms. I mean, it wasn't like HRE would _force _Italy to marry him—Oh Pasta! Italy cursed himself. Italy hated to admit it, but he wouldn't put it past Holy Roman Empire to do such a thing. After all, the guy spent nearly 800 years chasing after him—the young Empire was relentless!

Italy didn't know what he would do if Holy Roman Empire forced him to marry him. Whether Italy liked it or not, he would become an Empire, which disgusted Italy. Italy didn't know how he would handle such a thing! If HRE did something like that to him, Italy just—he would just—! Italy felt anger surge through his body.

His thoughts became a flurry of anger.

How dare HRE do something like that to Italy!

That bastard, nor anyone else, was allowed to treat Italy that way!

If Italy didn't want to marry HRE and no one, not even HRE, Austria, or Hungary could make him! And if they did—if they did—then—then—THEN ITALY WOULD HATE THEM FOREVER!

Italy shook his head furiously and buried his face in his pillow. How could he think such things! He wouldn't really grow to hate HRE, would he?

Italy felt his heart crack as he realized, that yes, he would if he married Holy Roman Empire and became an Empire himself.

Italy cried into his pillow as he came to the conclusion that if Holy Roman Empire came back, and he and HRE married and became one Empire that he would eventually grow to hate Holy Roman Empire. Why! Wasn't there a way that Italy wouldn't hate HRE! That he could continue to love Holy Roman Empire!

Italy's fragile heart cracked even more as he realized the only way he wouldn't go on to hate the very person he loved most, was if that person never, ever returned.


	3. Chapter 3

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 3—Angsty teenage Italy**

Hungary had not seen Italy in three days. The Italian had locked himself in his room, only ever coming out to eat in the middle of the night or use the lavatory. Hungary and Austria were worried deeply, as the last time they had seen Italy was at dinner three nights before. His eyes had been puffy and red, his voice raspy—from sobbing most likely—and a depressing aura surrounding his being, as if the young nation had lost the very will to live.

Finally, though, according to one of the maids, Italy had emerged from his room, and Hungary planned to have a talk with him. Hungary spent the better part of the morning searching for Italy, which was surprisingly hard with out having the boy's girlish hums to follow. But eventually Hungary managed to find him in the garden, sweeping the sidewalks.

"Italy?" Hungary asked as she approached. Italy, whose back had been facing her, looked over his shoulder.

"Ciao, Ms. Hungary." Italy greeted with a half-hearted smile.

Hungary smiled in return.

"So," Hungary began awkwardly. "I haven't seen you in awhile, Italy."

Hungary watched as Italy's shoulders stiffened slightly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't feel well." Italy blatantly lied. Hungary narrowed her eyes slightly and came to stand closer to Italy, so she was almost hovering over the boy.

"Why didn't you say so? I would have given you medicine and taken care of you." Hungary said, wanting to catch the teenager in his lie.

Italy shrugged and avoided eye contact; odd behavior for the usually happy-go luck, fun loving Italian.

"I didn't want to be a bother." Italy answered flatly. He didn't even look at Hungary; only at the ground he was still sweeping. Hungary frowned.

Italy was being evasive—Italy was never evasive! Hungary gripped Italy's chin, much to the former's surprise, and forced him to look her in the eye.

Hungary scrutinized every emotion in his amber eyes.

Sadness…Frustration…Confusion…Anger…Hate?

Hungary grimaced. All these emotions were foreign to Italy. What would cause Italy to feel this way?

Italy backed away from Hungary, making her release his chin in the process.

Hungary frowned sadly at the now very somber looking boy. Never had she seen Italy look so apathetic and depressing. The only thing that truly showed how Italy felt at that moment was his eyes—which displayed emotions that Hungary didn't understand coming from Italy.

"Why did you lie, Italy?" Hungary asked. Italy once again avoided Hungary's gaze.

"Why did you lie, Italy?" Hungary asked again with more force. Italy visibly flinched at the tone. Hungary had never used that tone with him.

Italy was silent for a long time, as was Hungary.

"Ve~…I…" Italy began in a quiet voice.

"I…I just…Ms. Hungary…I—Holy Roman Em—I…" Italy stopped abruptly in the middle of his fumbled reply. His body began to shake and tremble, and Hungary's conviction slowly started to slip.

"Italy, are you—" Hungary never finished her question, as in that moment, Italy burst into tears and started to sob and wretch uncontrollably.

"I—I'm so—so s-sorry—I'm sorry! I'm sorry, M-Ms. Hun-Hungary~! I…" Italy choked out as he began to cry into Hungary's dress. Hungary gently hugged Italy closer to her, rubbing circles in his back trying to sooth him.

Later, Hungary and Italy sat together in the garden and talked. Italy explained, rather vaguely, that he had had some conflicting emotions lately about Holy Rome's return. Hungary listened sympathetically, of course, and tried her best to advise the young nation.

"Italy, there is nothing wrong with not being sure of such things like marriage! It is a big deal, you should not feel bad about not quite being ready!" Hungary told Italy, not fully knowing Italy's situation. Italy went along with it, though.

"Ve~! Thank you, Ms. Hungary, I feel much better." Italy lied surprisingly easily.

Hungary nodded, accepting this, and then left.

Italy was then left with his thoughts, which had turned rather morose as of late. All Italy could think of lately were ways he could continue to love HRE without HRE never returning. But every idea he came up with was either really, really dumb, or just plain doomed for failure.

His best plan so far was to gain independence from Holy Rome. It was a cruel and, like I said, doomed for failure. Holy Rome would never forgive Italy if he even tried to recede from the Empire, not only that, but Austria certainly wouldn't _just_ _let Italy go! _Even if he had Romano's help, without a powerful ally or someone supporting him, Italy had no chance. It was a lose-lose situation for Italy.

Italy continued his chores, and later that night, joined Austria and Hungary for dinner. Austria seemed quite upset—and he vented it.

"France's new boss, Napoleon, is a tyrant! He's slowly invading parts of the Empire! What's worse is that he's moving closer towards Italy and I; I fear we may have to go to war." Austria said as Hungary and Italy dutifully listened.

Hungary, of course, was outraged.

"How dare that idiot France do such a thing! I mean, seriously, he doesn't really think he can get away with this, right?" Hungary fumed as she angrily butchered her mashed potatoes. Italy was silent, though. An idea was forming in his head.

All throughout dinner, Italy thought about this new plan forming in his mind. By the time Austria was finished with his meal, Italy's plan was in place.

Before Austria could excuse himself from the table, Italy spoke up.

"Mr. Austria?" Italy asked in his soft teenage girl voice.

Austria turned to Italy in surprise, as if he had forgotten the Italian's presence completely.

"Yes, Italy?" Austria asked.

"I was wondering if I may go with you to see your boss in two days. Could I?" Italy asked in a polite tone. Austria and Hungary seemed shocked by this request.

"Italy," Hungary began. "Why would you want to go to such a stuffy old meeting? You usually leave everything to Austria and me."

"Well, Austria's boss is my boss, too, right? I would like to see the person I'm trusting my land and people with." Italy answered smoothly. He had thought long and hard about what he would say, hoping it would work. It did.

"Ja, I guess it's okay for you to come along. But Hungary's coming, too, to keep an eye on you." Austria said, and then excused himself from the table.

After Austria left, Hungary gave Italy a proud smile.

"I'm so proud of you, Italy! Taking responsibility for your country—how noble of you!" Hungary gushed. Italy thanked Hungary graciously for her praise, hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, and then excused himself from the table, also.

Italy went to his room, got ready for bed, and fell into bed, ready sleep peacefully for the first time in days.

* * *

The day of the meeting…

Italy, instead of the maid's dress Hungary usually made him wear, wore a fancy dark green dress and a white hat that successfully made him look like a girl. Hungary also wore a fancy dress, only hers was light yellow. Austria wore a nice, tailored suit, obviously.

Austria introduced Italy to his boss, and the three nations and, technically, their mutual boss, had tea. Afterwards, though, Italy and Hungary had to leave so Austria and his boss could discuss business.

Hungary and Italy chose to sit in one of the parlors of the palace and wait for Austria. For awhile, Hungary and Italy spoke with each other, but then an Austrian noblewoman, one that knew Hungary was a country, came into the parlor and struck up a conversation with Hungary. Italy took this as his opening.

"I'm going to find a bathroom, Ms. Hungary." Italy said as he left the room. Hungary nodded and continued her conversation like nothing had happened.

Italy slowly made his way down the corridors of palace in silence. He passed several bathrooms, but entered none of them. Italy had no use for them at the moment; he had a mission to complete.

Finally, after searching for quite some time, Italy came to a door with two guards stationed on either side of it. The plague above the door read, in Austrian, "Armory".

Italy felt a twinge of fear surge through him as he read the word. Taking a deep breath, though, Italy commenced his plan.

Stepping out from behind the corner he had been hiding behind, Italy called the guards attention. "Ve~! Excuse me, but I saw a maid down the hall carrying a jewelry box! I think she might be stealing it from the palace!" Italy told them.

The guards looked at each other in alarm, then took off down the hall Italy had just come from, leaving Italy alone. Figures Austrian soldiers would be more concerned the help stealing then guarding the palace armory.

Italy approached the armory cautiously. When he came to stand in front of it, he noticed that there was a pad lock on the door. Italy's spirits fell and he let out a whine of dissatisfaction. One part of Italy wanted to just give up right then and there, but another part was determined to succeed. For the first time since Turkey tried to invade, Italy listened to the latter part of himself.

Taking a firm hold of the pad lock in his hands, Italy used the strength he had always been too much of a coward to use. With a quick jerk, the pad lock broke off the latch it was holding. The door opened its self without anything holding it closed, giving Italy a dismal look at his potential choices.

Dropping the padlock to the ground, Italy entered the armory with a look of horror.

Every surface of the armory was covered in dust, the scent of decaying wood coated the air, and half the things in the armory weren't even weapons! Italy examined the room to find that, yes, half of what was in the armory was actually garbage—broken pieces of furniture, old, tossed away clothes, and used books, most likely from the royal library, that hadn't been read in decades. Italy may not have liked war and fighting—he himself seeing it as pointless and stupid—but his time with his Grandpa Rome had given him a certain respect for a strong warrior and army. Seeing an armory like this one made Italy question how Austria still existed and how he had beaten France.

Italy was relieved though, to find that at least the weapons in the armory were in good condition. Italy knew he had to hurry, so he tried to find what he was looking for quickly.

"Let's see…sword, sword, shield…sword…sword—Bingo!" Italy exclaimed gleefully as he found what he wanted. For good measure though, Italy grabbed a hunter's knife and pistol, too. Slipping the knife and pistol into the hem of his skirt for safe keeping, hiding them from view with the help of his petticoat, Italy wrapped his weapon of choice in an old tarp.

The young Italian fled down the corridors, avoiding others as much as possible. Soon, he made it outside the palace to where the carriage that had brought Austria, Hungary, and him to the palace had been parked. Keeping an eye out for witnesses, Italy slipped the his weapons into the trunk at the back of the carriage, hoping no one would check it before Italy had a chance to recollect the cargo.

Quickly, Italy then ran back to the palace and to the parlor where Hungary was.

Italy let out a sigh of relief as he reentered the parlor, where Hungary was still talking with the noblewoman.

"Oh, Italy, back already? Did you find the lavatory, alright?" Hungary asked as she noticed the boy's return. Italy smiled at his older-sister figure.

"Ve~! Yes, I found it just fine." Italy said. He took the empty seat next to Hungary, trying his best to stay calm; though on the inside his heart was racing like had just downed three cups of sugar and ran ten miles.

* * *

The next day…

Italy had successfully smuggled the stolen weapons into his bedroom, with, hopefully, no one the wiser. Now Italy had to proceed with the next step of his plan, before anybody found the weapons he had stashed under his bed, or worse, figured out his plan.

The next step in his plan was rather tricky however. Clothes, Italy needed boy clothes; something he was not provided in Austria's household, and as far as Italy knew, no one else was besides Austria himself. Italy visibly shuddered at the thought of wearing Austria's clothes, his Italian sense of fashion kicking in, and in turn, wanting to kick some sense into Austria. I mean really, hadn't that guy ever heard of CASUAL CLOTHING! Italy shook off these Fashion-Homicidal thoughts.

Sadly, there was only one way to get the clothes. Italy felt his stomach churn as he approached Austria's office. Piano music was being played in the background, so Italy knew Austria wasn't in his office, but still anxiety flooded the young nation's system. He was about to do something despicable, shameful, and wrong.

He was about to steal money from Austria.

Italy slipped into the office silently and locked the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, Italy approached Austria's desk. First, he checked the surface of the desk—nothing but neatly stacked paperwork and music sheets. Next, Italy checked all the unlocked desk drawers.

All the drawers on the left side of the desk were unlocked, but only contained ink, spare quills and papers, and a date book filled with things that bored Italy senseless. The right side drawers were all locked, much to Italy's dismay and anguish.

"Ve~! Okay, keys! Where would Austria hide his keys?" Italy thought aloud as he survived the room in panic. Where _would _Austria hide his keys, or anything for that matter? "The guy liked music and aristocratic things, he had a bunch of servants, and was pretty much a pansy that needed everything done for—Wait…Oh my God." Italy thought.

Italy face palmed as he realized just where Austria's keys were.

Italy raced out of Austria's office, down the hall, turned right, then took a left, raced upstairs, down the corridor, and finally stopped at Austria's bedroom door.

Slipping in as quietly as possible, Italy searched the room for the laundry basket.

He found it by the bathroom door. Italy rifled through Austria's dirty clothes with no shame as he searched for Austria's pants from yesterday. When he did find them, he quickly turned out the pockets, a ring of keys falling out as he did. Austria was forgetful and had no sense of direction. Figures he had the maids retrieve his keys from the laundry for him everyday to give to him later.

"VE~! Hehehe~!" Italy cheered gleefully as he grasped the keys between his hands like they were a precious jewel. Using his abnormal speed, Italy raced back down to Austria's office, thanking every god under the sun that piano music was still being played in the background.

Once back in the office, Italy locked the door again, and quickly approached the desk. He unlocked the first drawer only to find a bunch of boring documents that Italy assumed were important.

The next drawer was—JACK POT! Italy cheered as he found a small bag of money in the second drawer. There were other financial documents and small bags of money in the drawer, but Italy only took two bags of money. He didn't want to take much, but he still needed enough to buy what he needed.

Italy was about to flee the office when suddenly he thought about the third drawer. Curiosity got the best of him, so he unlocked it, too.

"Hahahahahahahahahhahahaha!" Italy laughed as he looked down at the contents of the drawer. Love letters—to Hungary—all unsent and filled with ooey, gooey, sickeningly sweet words. Italy may have been one of the countries of love, but even he had to laugh at the things Austria said in the letters.

Pocketing the bags of money—and a couple of love letters—Italy fled the office.

Giggling the whole way back to his room.

* * *

The next night…

Tonight was the night. Now or never. Any day now Austria would start becoming suspicious. The armory break in at the palace, the theft from his office, it would all eventually come back to Italy. Tonight was the night.

Italy, as usual, joined Hungary and Austria for dinner. This time, ready to give the performance of his life.

Hungary was her usual self. Gushing over the days activities, trying to get Austria to talk and be friendlier.

Austria, of course, politely conversed with Hungary, but never spoke of anything personal beyond business. It didn't matter though, Italy would eventually have his opening.

That opening came when Austria started talking about recent news from HRE.

"Things aren't looking good. I fear Holy Roman Empire will not being returning…ever." Austria said dismally. Italy immediately cut in.

"Why don't you help?" Italy asked. Italy felt slightly relieved that his girlish voice came out defensive, as if he were trying to defend Holy Roman Empire. He was even more relieved when Austria and Hungary looked at him in shock.

"Italy, I can't just—" Italy cut off Austria.

"Yes you can! Why don't you is the question!" Italy shouted.

Austria looked taken aback, while Hungary looked caught between proud and horrified.

"Italy, you have no place to be—" Once again, Italy cut him off.

"You are a worthless coward, you know that!" Italy shouted.

Austria and Hungary were officially stunned silent.

Italy was surprised himself. But he kept going, letting his true feelings towards Austria finally come out.

"You are—everyone sees it! You can't fight, you can't do anything on your own, you always let your husband or wife do it for you, you manipulative bastard!" Wow, Italy just channeled his inner Romano. But still, some things needed to be said.

"You use Hungary as a maid most of the time, and during war, as a tool to take down your enemies for you! And then YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE BALLS TO TALK TO HER LIKE A FRIEND! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" Italy shouted as he stood from his seat in—what would seem to be—anger.

Austria was now gaping. Hungary looked completely appalled.

Italy knew now had to drive it home.

"I COULD DO A BETTER JOB OF HELPING HOLY ROME THAN YOU COULD ANYWAY!" Italy yelled at the top of his girlish lungs. He then stormed out of the dining room, along the way adding, "I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL, BASTARD!"

Italy wasted no time in returning to his room, where he promptly locked the door.

He changed into the clothes he had bought the day before—white britches, tall brown riding boots, a white, poofy shirt, a brown coat, and black hat. From under his bed he brought out the weapons, ammo, left over money, the letters, and a sack with a draw string. Italy put his leftover money, the ammo he had bought, and letters he had stolen in the sack, while he slipped the hunters knife into his boot and the gun into the waste band of his pants.

Last but not least, he slung the sheath of arrows that accompanied his weapon of choice—the long bow—over his shoulder, hooking his bow up to the sheath for safe keeping.

Italy waited until the mansion was silent and everyone was asleep to leave his room. He had the sack and weapons on his back, so he was careful of making noise. He finally made it outside the mansion though, and to the stables. He only lit one lantern, so not to alert anyone of his presence. He found a simple brown horse that if he remembered correctly, was sweet on new riders and fast to boot.

He saddled the horse, Daisy, up and led her out of the stables to the front gate of Austria's house.

He mounted her, happy to find that he had remembered correctly, and hooked the lantern to the saddle so he would have light as he rode.

Italy took one final look back at Austria's house, his home for last few centuries, then gripped Daisy's reigns and rode off into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 4—A brother's reunion**

For the first time in his entire life, Romano was willingly running at top speed for a reason besides fleeing France's advances. He had heard from a trader, who had recently been up north that Feliciano Vargas had returned to Italy. While to humans this meant that a high level aristocrat who had been living abroad had returned home, to Romano this meant his brother had returned.

Romano was now in Florence, where Feliciano was reportedly. He had asked every noble he had come across if they had seen young master Vargas. Some had said he was just down the road, a few had told Romano that he was at some other noble's house, and quite a few had said something that Romano dare not believe.

Yes, quite a few people had told Romano that they had seen Feliciano _training _in a field on the outskirts of the city. Romano refused to believe it.

But after every lead was dead, Romano was forced to investigate the claim. Circling the city as quickly as he could, Romano searched for a field where someone was training.

To his surprise, he actually found it.

Veneziano, his younger bother, was _actually training_ in the field—Yeah, I know, I can't believe it either! It wasn't intense training or anything, but it was training nonetheless.

Romano watched from a distance as his brother aimed his bow & arrow with diligence and grace. Veneziano released the arrow with a practiced ease and sent it flying into the very center of his target; a human shaped dummy.

Romano gulped as he examined the multiple puncture marks in the dummy, all of which were in what were clearly kill-shot areas or immobilizing areas.

Romano waited until Veneizano put down the deadly weapon before he approached his brother. "Veneizano!" Romano called as he approached.

Veneizano whirled around to face his brother with a surprised expression, but it quickly lit up with a smile as he saw it was Romano who had called out to him.

"Fratello! Fratello! Ve~!" Veneziano cheered with glee as he ran up and hugged his brother. For once, Romano returned the gesture.

"Why are you here, Veneziano? Is Austria-bastard here, as well?" Romano asked, pulling away to look at his little brother. Veneziano looked away.

"No, Mr. Austria isn't here. I'm by myself." Veneziano answered in a less cheerful voice.

Romano wondered if something was wrong with Austria or Hungary. Why else would Veneziano be so sad that about Austria not being with him?

"Why are you here by yourself?" Romano asked hoping to squeeze out some information from his brother. Veneziano stiffened and looked down at his boots.

"I…I just wanted to come home for a bit. Okay?" Veneziano mumbled.

Romano's gaze hardened on his brother. This was no casual visit, that, Romano knew. What he didn't know was what it really was.

"Veneziano," Romano began. "Why are you _really_ here?"

Veneziano looked up to meet Romano's gaze—to Romano's surprise—with a fierce, determined gaze of his own. It reminded Romano, for a brief moment, of Ancient Rome.

"I ran away." Veneizano said in a determined voice. Romano stared at his brother in shock, his previous, nostalgic thought forgotten.

"What?!" Romano yelled. Veneziano suddenly went back to his normal self.

Veneziano's face flushed with shame and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Fratello! I—I just needed to leave! It's for the best, I'm sorry~! I just can't be there anymore, I don't want to be a part of Austria's house anymore!" Veneziano cried pitifully. Now this was the Italy Romano was used to. Just the way Romano liked him—crying and blubbering like an idiot.

Romano felt relief at Veneziano's turn of behavior…until he realized the weight of Veneziano's cries.

"Wait! You don't want to be part of Austria's house anymore?! Veneziano…are you saying…Are you going to…?" Romano couldn't even finish his sentence. Veneziano stopped crying abruptly—per usual of him—and smiled with his usual glee and happiness.

"Ve~! Si, Fratello! I want to gain independence!" Veneziano shouted with conviction.

Romano fainted then and there.


	5. Chapter 5

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 5—The Departure**

**(A/N: So, I just want to say thanks for the review everyone! You are all very Awesome-**

**Prussia—But not as Awesome as the Great Prussia, right!? Oh, who am I kidding—of course they're not as awesome as me!**

**Me- =_= ' ...Prussia, you are awesome…but not as awesome as Italy so shut up or I'll sick Latvia on you!**

**Prussia—Latvia? That pansy, vhat will he be able to do to the almighty Prussia!? Kessee~! **

**ME-*Smirks*…Oh Latvia~!**

**Latvia—Y-Yes, Ms. Vampire Author?**

**ME—*Evil smile* ACTIVATE YANDERE MODE!**

**Prussia—O_O!? Vhat?**

**Latvia—Um…Uh…O-Okay…*Psycho face**Brings Russia's pipe out from behind his back***

**Prussia-…Crap.*Runs away***

**Latvia-*Chases him***

**ME-*Smiles like Russia as she watches the attempted murder* Oh how I love those two—Now on with the story!**

* * *

After reviving Romano with the help of a bucket of water, Italy decided to explain everything—well, everything Romano needed to know.

"So, wait," Romano began to ask with a raised eyebrow and unsatisfied frown on his lips. "You ran away from Austria's house so you could gain freedom from the Holy Roman Empire…so you could save the Holy Roman Empire from Napoleon…But before you can do that, you plan to get Napoleon to help you gain your independence?..." Romano asked skeptically. Italy nodded enthusiastically.

He had it all planned out. He would earn his freedom from Holy Rome so he could continue to love him. Then he would use his new freedom to help Holy Rome defeat big brother France. It was a win-win. Everyone would be happy and it wouldn't matter that Italy ran away from Austria's house.

"Ve~! I wonder what Hungary and Austria are doing right now. It's been a week since I left." Italy thought to himself, forgetting about his brother completely, much to Romano's dismay. "Veneziano? Veneziano?! VENEZIANO!?"

* * *

MEANWHILE AT AUSTRIA'S HOUSE…

"What do you mean Italy ran away?" asked Saxony, Prussia's older brother as well as Holy Roman Empire's brother. Clearly the Germanic nation had a hard time believing that sweet little Italy had decided to rebel and run away.

Austria said otherwise.

"Italy had been acting strange lately. I thought it was just feminine troubles but apparently not. The night before she ran away she and I argued—" Hungary angrily cut off Austria's explanation, however.

"More like Italy told your aristocratic ass off and instead of going after him and talking to him about it, you wussied out and instead whimpered into your pillow all night because everything Italy said was true!" Hungary shouted at Austria who was sitting on the couch across from the arm chair she was seated at. No one really noticed the 'him's in her tongue lashing, all too afraid of her at the moment.

Everyone was gathered at Austria's house due to recent events; everyone meaning those who were part of the Holy Roman Empire. Saxony and Hese, the two brothers of Prussia and HRE, were seated on the couch together. Next to that couch was the arm chair Hungary sat in, with an air of anger that said 'Say-something-stupid-in-this-moment-and-I-will-show-no-mercy-because-I-am-just-that-pissed-off-right-now' might I add.

Austria sat on a couch by himself, scared out of his wits because of Hungary. Prussia was oddly quiet during the meeting and instead sat off to the side by one the arch windows of the room. No one really minded. As for Bavaria, he had decided to skip out on the meeting. The reason why? Simply put, he still held a grudge against Austria.

"So Italy finally realized how lame Austria is…Huh? Oddly I don't feel happy about this." Hese commented to no one really. Saxony nodded his head in agreement.

"Well you shouldn't be happy!" Hungary snapped at Prussia's brothers. Both visibly flinched, knowing full well that Hungary was a force to be reckoned with when annoyed and/or angered. Austria was on the verge of whimpering and crying at this point, mostly due to fear of Hungary, as well as flashbacks to Hungary beating him up as a child. Prussia, at this point, was the only one being spared of Hungary's wrath.

Not for long though.

"What do you have to say about all of this, Prussia you jerk!?" Hungary shouted at him from across the room. For once, her anger towards Prussia was unneeded and unfounded, not that she cared at the moment. Prussia looked up from where he had been lazily petting Gilbird, his face oddly impassive. "I don't care about Italy running away. I don't care at all really. If Italy doesn't want to be part of the Holy Roman Empire anymore, so be it." Prussia said in a genuinely uninterested tone. Hungary finally snapped.

"You jerk-ass! How _dare _you be so nonchalant! Italy is out there somewhere, alone, possibly dying, and all you say is that you don't care! God dammit, Prussia I HATE you!" Hungary screamed. As she had yelled this, she had risen from her seat and marched across the room to stand in front of Prussia. Her anger multiplying ten-fold as she saw that his expression was still uncaring and passive when she came to stand mere inches away from him. "WHY ARE SUCH NARSASIST?! WHY CAN'T YOU CARE ABOUT ANY BUT YOUR SELF?! WHY DON'T SHOW ANYBODY BUT YOURSELF LOVE AND KINDNESS!?" Hungary yelled, finally venting years of frustration. Prussia seemed surprised at her words and took a moment before tentatively answering, "I—I just don't care about them."

…Hungary and everyone else in the room froze

…Prussia just blinked, not getting what the big deal was

…Hungary's face and aura darkened

…

_Slap!_

Prussia put a hand over his newly stung cheek, looking aghast as to what Hungary had done. Sure, she had beat him up as a kid, as teens, too, but never had she ever struck a blow at him with such coldness that made it hurt more than any other beating he had ever received. Hungary looked down at Prussia with an icy glare of disgust and hatred. Everyone was silent, sensing this was no ordinary scuffle between Hungary and Prussia…no…it was no ordinary scuffle for Elizabeta and Gilbert.

"I knew you were narcissistic…I knew you were an idiot…I just never knew you didn't have a heart." Hungary said coldly before swiftly turning her back on him and marching out of the room. All were silent for a long time after she left. Austria's fear had disappeared at this point, being replaced by curiosity and…sympathy for Prussia. Prussia in the mean time, had gone back to petting Gilbird, as if nothing had happened.

…

"Austria," Prussia said. Austria looked to Prussia in shock. Never had Prussia said his name—well, he had said it, just not so politely! "Uh, um…Y-Yes, Prussia?" Austria fumbled out. "I think you should go to Italy." Prussia said simply. Austria was taken aback by this. "Why?" He asked the albino man. "Italy ran away, surely he knows that would be the first place we'd look for him. If I'm going to start searching for Italy, I should begin with where he would seek refuge." Austria argued. Prussia shook his head.

"You shouldn't go there to retrieve Italy. You should go to stop him." Prussia stated. Catching what Prussia meant, Hese and Saxony nodded. Austria, forever war-retarded, did not catch the meaning behind Prussia's words. "Stop vhat?" Austria asked dumbly. Prussia shook his head at his—hard to believe—brother. "He ran away, Aristocrat! Vhat do you think he will do?" Prussia said with slight aggravation.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Austria…as did dread…and a bit of fear. "Oh…" Austria said. "Yeah…" Prussia said.

* * *

The sun had just risen over the Italian city of Florence, and the town would awaken soon, with the exception of two Italian boys who were already awake. One with auburn hair, a military uniform on, a long bow and sheath of arrows slung over his back, who lead a saddle horse that carried a sack of food and other essentials. The other with darker hair, who wore civilian clothes, was half asleep, and lagged behind the auburn haired boy.

The boys stopped on the outskirts of the city. The auburn haired boy turned to face his brother. "Well, Fratello…gotta go, ya know? Duty calls! Hehe, Ve~…hehe." Italy said to Romano, trailing off with a nervous laugh at the end. Romano gave a huff and refused to look at Italy. "You're an idiot, Veneziano." Romano said simply. Italy's already small smile fell into a frown at those words. Noticing this, Romano flushed like a tomato.

"But," Romano blushed even more so. "I love you, and…don't do anything more stupid than usual." Romano grumbled, though Italy heard perfectly. A bright smile lighting up his face, Italy tackled his big brother in a hug, screaming gleefully when after a short struggle, Romano hugged back.

After a-longer-than-usual-hug-for-Romano, the boys detached. Italy mounted his steed and Romano took a step back to allow the animal some room. Taking one last look back at his brother, Italy gave his brother a truly determined look and a nod of goodbye. Romano gave a nod back. Then, with a tight grip on the horse's reigns, and a soldier's face, Italy rode off into the still dark morning.

Romano turned around and began to walk back into the city in silence and tiredness, thinking about Italy's journey—until it occurred to him who that look Italy gave him reminded him of. Romano stopped dead in his tracks as he remembered Italy's face before he left. It was so familiar…it was—Romano couldn't believe it—Grandpa Rome's face.

And not the face that Romano usually saw when his grandpa was being his usual ditsy, goofy self. No…It was the face Grandpa Rome had when he was about to go to war, when he was in the presence of his emperor, or in those rare instances where he was not some goof-ball, eccentric, idiot grandpa, but was instead a true Empire! When he showed that he truly was the World's greatest Empire!

With this thought, Romano began walking again, not for the first time, feeling envious of his brother…but also worried, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 6—Napoleon's army and Austria's journey**

**(A/N: If I wasn't clear, here are the ages for all the characters…**

**North Italy- 13, almost 14**

**South Italy- 15, almost 16 **

**Holy Roman Empire- 13 (If I'm correct, HRE is younger than Milan and Venice. Thus making HRE younger than North Italy.)**

**The adult nations (aka, Austria, Hungary, France, Spain, Prussia, Hesse, Saxony, and Bavaria) are all in their early to late twenties.**

* * *

Austria had been riding for a week now—okay maybe not riding, more like riding in the back of a carriage with group of soldiers following…and four other carriages filled with Austrian luxuries such as musical instruments, beautiful clothes, and other material things. But still, back to the story. Austria had been traveling for a week, yet they had yet to reach Venice, Austria's planned first stop to search for Italy. It was awfully odd, Austria thought.

Eventually, Austria and his caravan were forced to stop in a small village and restock on food. It was a small, quaint Germanic village. Hmm, Austria thought, perhaps they were still in Austria, or maybe Switzerland. "Four-eyes?" A familiar voice asked from behind Austria. Austria turned around to see none other than Prussia standing a little bit down the road with a confused expression. Austria was greatly surprised to see Prussia here. What would he be doing in Austria still…or Switzerland…Where ever they were…?

"Prussia, what are you doing here?" Austria asked. Prussia gave him an incredulous look. "The awesome Me? Vhat are _you_ doing here? You're supposed to be looking for Italy, not here in Prussia!" Prussia shouted, his eyebrows twitching uncharacteristically and a somewhat stern, reprimanding tone in his voice. Huh…maybe they were brothers after all—Wait? Prussia? As in the country?

"Wait, I'm in Prussia?! But we were heading towards Venice!" Austria said with a mortified face and voice. Prussia shook his head, giving Austria a look that said 'You-are-not-serious, right?' "You…You really have no sense of direction, do you?" Prussia asked Austria in somewhat disbelief. Austria sighed dismally. "…No." Austria answered glumly.

* * *

After a week of tracking, Italy was able to find the location of Napoleon's troops, and he was heading there now. He was currently riding through a dense forest, his only guide being the compass he had clutched in his hands as Daisy slowly trotted through the brush. "So, if that trader was right…then I just have to keep going north-west until I reach a small village. Napoleon's camp should be nearby." Italy said aloud to himself. And his horse. "Ve~! You hear that Daisy? We're almost there!" Italy said gleefully to the mare. She seemed to understand as she nayed at his words.

A mile later, the Italian teen and his horse had reached the small village. It was clear Napoleon was nearby, for as Italy entered the village he saw soldiers littered about the place. A few here and there, most were chatting up the local girls with all the charm of their French heritage, others were drinking and talking with the local men. Everyone seemed at ease in the village. Napoleon must have let his soldiers have a short break while they were in town, Italy assumed. Watching the French soldiers reminded Italy of something—Big brother France!

Italy couldn't help but beam at the thought of seeing France. He hadn't seen him in years, so Italy hoped that France would be by his new boss' side. With this new hope in mind, Italy continued his ride towards Napoleon's camp, his usual cheerful smile gracing his face.

Not much later, Italy found himself standing before a short, pig-like man. "Ve~! Excuse me, but where is Napoleon?" Italy asked the short man in French. The man frowned at Italy and gave him a glare. "I am Napoleon, boy." The man answered with a somewhat annoyed tone. For the first time in his life, Italy gave someone a 'WTF?' look. He looked at the short man as if he had just proclaimed himself Ruler of all of Europe. Ha! That was rich! "Y-You—you're kidding, right? I mean…Well, not to be rude sir, but…you're too short to be Napoleon!" Italy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The short man looked at him with a somewhat blank expression for a long time after that…it was unnerving and a bit funny.

…

"You're that idiot North Italy that France always speaks so fondly of, aren't you." It wasn't a question, but Italy still enthusiastically answered that yes, he was North Italy, apparently not caring about being called an idiot. Italy didn't question how the man had figured out who he was so easily, instead he let Napoleon lead him to his tent. There, the planning began.


	7. Chapter 7

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 7—Italy Vs Austria**

Austria sighed heavily as he and his caravan finally arrived in Northern Italy. They had set up camp and were planning to sleep soon. A storm was approaching quickly, so Austria knew it would be a difficult night to sleep. Resigning himself to a night of tossing, turning, thunder, and lighting, Austria settled in his own tent for the night.

* * *

"We strike at dawn." Napoleon stated aloud to Italy as they concluded the final walk through of their plan. Italy nodded resolutely.

This was it. It was do or die time now. This was his only chance. Now or never. A million thoughts raced through Italy's head as he walked back to his tent, raining drizzling down on him as he did. He couldn't help but feel happy, excited, horrible, and afraid all at once. It made him smile foolishly to himself.

He had made him choice…at dawn...he would fight for his freedom.

* * *

The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon when Austria was awakened by a _Bang!_ He jolted up from his cot in fear and immediately scrambled for his clothes. As he dressed he heard even more loud ba—wait, not bangs—gunfire! This urged Austria to dress faster.

After dressing himself—not bothering to style his hair like he usually did or wear the glasses he didn't need—Austria carefully exited his tent. The sight before him was horrifying!

The few men he had brought along were scattered about the camp either dead on the ground, dying on the ground, being fired at, or firing at someone. Those someones being French soldiers! Austria felt his blood boil as he watched the Frenchmen wreak havoc on his camp! France was probably amongst them, looking for Austria or helping his soldiers destroy the camp.

Little did Austria know that France wasn't even in Italy; he was back in France handling some important busniess. But another nation was there…

"Austria!" Austria's head snapped to the side when he heard the familiar feminine voice. He couldn't believe it when he saw just that person a few meters away on horseback…in a French uniform.

"Italy!? Vhat are you doing here!? Why are you wearing that?!" Austria yelled at Italy, despite knowing fully well what the answers were.

Austria was shocked by the cold look he received from Italy. Never had he seen Italy seem so callous. "I have recruited the help of Napoleon and his men to drive you out of my home once and for all, Austria! Leave now or face the consequences!" Italy shouted with strong and indomitable voice that Austria didn't recognize coming from Italy.

Austria was so stunned that he didn't notice Italy pulling a gun from her coat. Nor did her notice the single tear that dripped from the corner of her eye as she aimed it. Only did he register what was going on when he felt a sudden pain in his abdomen. He looked down at his stomach and he saw red sprouting from his left side. The circle of red grew larger in a matter of minutes and Austria's vision began to blur and he felt his balance slipping. Looking away from his stomach and back to Italy, Austria looked into Italy's golden eyes as his vision blurred and he fell to his knees in the mud.

His last sight before he blacked out was of Italy hopping off his horse and approaching him, reaching for something his coat.

* * *

_Crash!_

The marble floor of the foyer was now covered in little shards of glass, water, along with a few flowers. But Hungary didn't rush to clean it up as she usually would; she was too stunned to do anything. She stood in the middle of the foyer, her hands still in the position they had been when she had been holding the glass vase, her eyes wide with horror, and her body trembling. She could sense it-something horrible had happened and she could feel it in her heart that someone close to her, someone she loved, was hurt.

"A-Austria…" She whispered in shock and sadness.


	8. Chapter 8

**The death of Holy Roman Empire & the lost memories of North Italy**

**Episode 8—Injury and the Pope**

It was mid-day and a camp in the wilderness of Northern Italy lay in ruins. Austrian soldiers lay dead on the ground along with a few dead horses and French soldiers. The smell of gunpowder and death was still fresh in the air among the camp. It was silent besides the sounds of the wild birds in the area and the wind making the tree leaves and branches tremble. It was a morbidly peaceful scene in the destroyed campsite.

Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves could heard in the distance, along with carriage wheels bumping against stones and bumps in the road. Quickly, the galloping and wheels became louder and closer to the camp. Finally, a strong female voice rang out through the air. "There it is!"

A moment later, a cavalry entered the camp, along with carriages following. The lead horse of this cavalry was rode by a woman with long light brown hair and green eyes, who dawned a military uniform. This woman was the personification of Hungary. Her green eyes scanned the camp with terror and anxiety, sweeping over every man's body, searching for someone particular. She found him…but not how she wished she had. "Austria!" Hungary cried, quickly getting off her horse and running towards the aristocrat's body.

He was dirty; his body covered in a light layer of gunpowder and the front of his body face first in the mud. His left side was covered in red, much to Hungary's horror. After having made her way to his side and having flipped him onto his back gently, Hungary examined his state. He was filthy, that was for sure, but other than that, his only serious injury was the gunshot wound to his side. Thankfully, though, the injury had already begun to heal, all thanks to the natural healing abilities of the nations.

A nation could be shot multiple times, hanged, decapitated, and burned, but still live and recover eventually. It depended on the nation's strength but nonetheless they would live. Unless, of course, they were a very weak country.

"Austria, what happened? Austria?" Hungary asked the dark haired man despite the fact he had only just in that moment began to awaken. He did give an answer though. "It—it was It-Italy." Austria choked out, his voice weak and stammering. Hungary froze. "Italy…did this?" Hungary asked in utter shock. Austria's answer was a barely visible nod of 'yes'.

She tried, but Hungary couldn't hold back her sadness, and the tears began to stream down her face. Hungary dropped her head onto Austria's chest and let her body be racked with silent sobs as she despaired over what the Italian boy she had raised had done. However, as she clutched Austria's shirt, she heard the crinkling of paper. Looking up from Austria's chest, Hungary noticed a piece of paper sticking out of his shirt pocket. Out of curiosity, she pulled it out, unfolded it, and began to read.

To her shock, it was a letter to her. A love letter. As she read the letter, her tear stained face began to sprout a look of confusion…then wonder…shock…happiness…and, finally, hope. The letter was from Austria, and that made her unimaginably happy. But the note freshly written at the bottom is what gave her the hope she so desperately needed now.

**Dear Miss Hungary,**

**I don't expect any forgiveness. But I found this in Austria's office and thought you should know. One good thing should come from all this. Tell Mr. Austria that I'm sorry and I hope that when all this is over, we're all happy. **

**Love,**

**Veneziano Italy .**

Napoleon and his forces were in Rome now, and Napoleon was now commander of the Italian forces. It hadn't been long since what had happened at Austria's camp and so much had happened already. Italy could hardly believe it…neither could Romano. "I hate this guy! Did you hear what he did to the Pope! Seriously, the bastard banished the Pope! Who does that!? I mean, seriously, it's just so, so—CHIGI!" Romano vented before finally taking his anger out on a dinner plate and throwing it at a wall. Veneziano couldn't help but think that Romano was half-right, half-crazy. But I mean honestly, sometimes Romano was as temperamental and dramatic as a teenage girl. And they think I'm the girl, Veneziano thought amusedly to himself. He thought better of saying this aloud, especially considering Romano's famous temper and his current mood.

"Fratello, calm down. We have had worse done to our Popes—like Sorella Popess Joan! Remember?" Veneziano said, trying to be the rational one. Romano, despite agreeing about the Popess Joan thing, would hear nothing of it. "But he's causing trouble! Veneziano, you're not going to get freedom from him! You'll only be trading in one bastard boss in for another! Worse, you'll be trading in Austria for that pervert, France!" Romano shouted at the top of his lungs. Veneziano tried ignored his brother's words. Napoleon wouldn't do that…would he? No, Veneziano decided. They had a deal, and Napoleon would keep his end. Right?

"You shouldn't insult Big brother France so much. Ve!" Italy said shortly as he left the dinning room and headed up to his bedroom for a siesta. Romano was about to follow him and tell off his younger brother for defending the pervert and reprimanding him like a child, but then he noticed something about Veneziano's plate. It was full. Not a bite of pasta gone. Veneziano hadn't eaten. With great worry on his face, Romano wondered when the last time Veneziano had eaten was. Surely not long ago. Perhaps, Romano tried to rationalize, Veneziano had had a big lunch.

Little did he know that up stairs, in his bedroom, Veneziano was discarding his clothing to take a siesta as he usually would. But when he pulled his white shirt over his head, though, he didn't reveal his usual healthy physique, but instead the bony ribs of someone who hadn't eaten in much longer than since lunch.

* * *

Meanwhile, at Austria's house…

"I can't believe it." Said Saxony in shock and maybe a little awe as he stared at Austria's bedridden form. Austria had only recently returned to his home with Hungary. They had both tried to stop Napoleon's forces, but were eventually forced out. Austria was exhausted and still partially injured from his encounter with Italy, as injuries inflicted to a nation by another nation didn't heal as fast as injuries inflicted by humans. Hungary was pretty beat up herself, but for the most part she was worried about Austria.

She may have been very angry at Austria after Italy left-believing it was his fault Italy left and that everything Italy said was right. But after reading all of Austria's love letters to her, Hungary's anger disappeared and was replaced by love and adoration for the Austrian aristocrat. She was currently showing it by tending to his wounds instead of her own.

"It's a good thing Italy missed. You're lucky he didn't finish you off with a second shot." Hesse said from his seat next to Saxony's. They—the Germanics of the Holy Roman Empire with the exception of Switzerland and Holy Rome himself—were all seated in Austria's room, holding a meeting about the recent events in the Empire. "The kid probably didn't have the guts to finish Austria. I'm surprised the kid even fired the gun! I sometimes wonder how that kid could be the grandson of Ancient Rome." Bavaria said from where he was sprawled out on one of the couches. Saxony and Hesse couldn't help but agree.

"Italy could have fooled me. I thought he was going to kill me when he dismounted his horse." Austria said from his bed. Hungary quickly hushed him and told him to rest. "I'm sure we're all blowing this out of proportion. Sure, Italy wants independence, but that doesn't mean that Italy wants to kill any of us or doesn't love Holy Rome. We all knew that Italy wouldn't be part of the empire forever. Every nation has to grow up sometime." Hungary said very optimistically as she changed Austria's bandages. "Still, Holy Rome won't allow it. You know how he is." Austria said. Saxony, Hesse, and Bavaria nodded in agreement with Austria.

The conversation continued, with Austria and Hungary debating the pros and cons of Italy gaining independence, how Holy Rome might take it when he finds out, what Italy's chances of success were, and, the touchiest subject at the moment, why Italy shot Austria. Hungary defended that Italy probably meant to fire a warning shot and scare Austria off or something like that, while Austria said that the look in Italy's eyes said that Italy meant to shoot him and possibly kill him. Saxony was on Hungary's side, as he was unable to believe Italy had the will to harm anyone, let alone kill. Hese had declared nuetrality on the matter, although he had hinted that a bribe may change his mind. Bavaria simply decided to stay out of it and take a nap. Prussia, always one for opposing Austria, sided with Hungary and Saxony.

The argument over what Italy's purpose in shooting was continued for a long time, until the door burst open, revealing an unlikely a guest.

"Hey, Hungary! Austria! My boss wanted me to invite you guys to a—what the heck happened to Austria?" Turkey asked mid-sentence upon see the state of Austria and the Germanics surrounding him. Hungary glared at Turkey but all the same replied. " If you must know, Ottoman Empire, Italy ran away—" Or at least she tried before Turkey cut in. "The little guy ran away?! Woah! I knew the kid had guts when he was pushed far enough but I didn't think Austria was that bad!" Turkey said. "Italy has guts?" Saxony asked. Turkey nodded and grinned. "Surprising, yes, but he is a worthy opponent when he's pissed! However it takes a lot of prodding to get him that way!" Turkey said. All the Germanics stared at him with shock.

"Anyways, He ran away and Austria went after him. But when he did, Italy…Italy, uh…" Hungary had no idea how to phrase her next words with out making Italy sound like a monster or something. Prussia beat her to the punch. "He shot Austria, but we don't know why. So we don't know if he missed or not either." Prussia said from his seat in the arm chair next to the couch Bavaria slept on. Turkey looked taken aback in shock. Hesse and Saxony quickly noticed. "I know. We can't believe it either." Saxony said.

"Yeah," Turkey began in an awe struck tone. "I can't believe Italy missed either." A moment of silence passed before— "YOU'RE SURPRISED SHE _MISSED_!?" "VHAT?! THAT'S VHAT SURPRISING TO YOU!?" "SERIOUSLY?!" "VHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?" "FOR REAL?!" "WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!" "Sorry, Bavaria…" The rest of the Germanics apologized after they finished their bombarding of Turkey with questions.

Turkey stared at them in shock. But he tried to explain himself anyway—although in the back of his mind he was wondering if he could out run them all and get the heck out of there. "Yeah, Italy is a very good shot. He can even fight hand-to-hand a little. But his strong suit is long range weapons like bows & arrows, throwing knives, and guns. I have scars to prove it." Turkey explained pulling up his sleeve to his shoulder, revealing a few small scars that looked like stab wounds—probably from the throwing knives and arrows he mentioned. For the first time in their entire lives, looking at Turkey's arm, the Germanics in the room felt a twinge of fear of Italy.

Then it dawned on Hungary. "So when Italy shot Austria…it was on purpose…but vhy?" Hungary said aloud for all to hear. Everyone went silent. Prussia was the first to speak. "Maybe, he was doing it to protect Austria. If the other soldiers thought he was already dead or dying, they wouldn't have shot at him. Italy may have saved Austria from further injury than what he received." Prussia explained. After a moment of deep thought, everyone came to the internal conclusion, that yes, that was probably what Italy had been meaning to do.

That left only one question. A question Turkey was the first to ask aloud.

"What made Italy want to run away?"


	9. Chapter 9

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy Episode 9—Crushed dreams & an unfortunate reunion **

(A Short history lesson for all you folks out there. After Napoleon banished the Pope and became commander of the Italian forces, he began to invade Austria. Sometime during or after this, I forget, Napoleon gave Austria back control over Italy. As technically Austria still had claim over it. Napoleon, however, maintained control over the Italian forces, which he used to in-turn, invade Austria. So, if I'm wrong, I'm sorry, but this is the best interpretation I can do of this bit of history. Enjoy!)

* * *

"What do you mean you're giving me back to Austria!?" Italy shouted at the short man known as Napoleon. Napoleon paid the boy's tone no mind and answered nonchalantly, "You are still Austrian property. I have command over your military forces and Rome now; you are useless to me now. Honestly boy, you should be less trusting of people. They will only use you in the end." Then the French Emperor walked out of the room, leaving Italy with tears streaming down his eyes.

"This…Ve~, no…no, this can't be…N-Napoleon…Napoleon, you bastard!" Italy, in a fury, threw a vase across the room. It crashed against a wall and shattered into a million pieces, the sound of breaking ceramic echoing through the Vargas home. A second later, foot steps could be heard thundering down the stairs. "What's going on!? Veneziano, you idiota, what'd you do?!" Romano said in usual annoyed tone as he entered the room. "I did nothing! It's all that French Pig's fault!" Italy yelled as stomped past Romano and out the room. A moment later, Romano heard the front door slam shut very hard, making him flinch a little.

Italy ran through the streets of Venice with tears in his eyes and snot dripping down his face. He kept running and running, not caring about the pretty girls he passed, or pasta he smelled, or anything really except the fact he wanted to run away. And not like how he ran away from Austria's house. That was an act of bravery on Italy's part. Now, Italy wanted to run away and hide—hide and be a coward, just like he had always been. It was a stupid idea, Italy screamed at himself on the inside. You're not supposed to be brave; you're supposed to be the coward who depends on others for everything. You can't be brave because when you are everything goes to Hell! These thoughts repeated themselves over and over again in Italy's head as he ran.

Eventually he had stop and breath, so he collapsed against a wall in an alley way. There he hugged his knees to his chest and sobbed in the darkness of the shady alley. He sat in the alley way for a long time, until the sun began to set, but the tears still didn't stop. Eventually though, they did and Italy got up and began to leave. He walked a slow pace and kept his eyes of the ground. His stomach was growling and now giving him hunger pains, just as had been for the last few weeks, ever since in the battle at Austria's camp. His golden eyes were dull and his face was wet with tears. He looked like the walking dead.

Italy walked through the dark walk ways of Venice for a long time, not even bothering to search for his home. He took comfort in the sounds of his foot steps echoing through the night air, and the water swishing and moving in the canals, along with the wind whistling in the night. This was disrupted, though, by the sound of crunching glass.

Stopping in his tracks, Italy looked down at his feet, and in the moon light, he saw the crushed remains of pottery under his shoes. He must have stepped on some old ceramic. Not wanting anyone to cut their feet or anything, Italy bent down on the ground and began sweep the ceramic off to the side and into the canal. But not without cutting his finger on an especially sharp shard. Italy gently picked up said shard and examined it. It was almost a perfect triangle and fit into Italy's palm perfectly. It was very sharp and had left a long red line on Italy's index finger. It stung and irritated Italy; all he could think about was the cut and the glass now and—

All he could think about was the cut, Italy realized. He was perfectly distracted from his emotional pain by this psychical pain. Carefully, Italy rolled up his sleeve to his elbow. He took a careful hold of the ceramic shard and brought it to his forearm. Taking a deep breath, Italy began to drag the triangle across his skin.

The pain in his heart was dulled a moment later by the pain in his arm.

* * *

"Italy…it's nice to have you back." Austria said awkwardly as he Italy was escorted into the grand foyer of Austria's house. He was back in a dress; a white one with long sleeves and a handkerchief tying his hair back; all of this making him look like a girl again. Italy remained impassive and silent, causing Austria to become even more nervous. Hungary tried to lighten the mood, though. "Italy! Welcome back!" Hungary cheered as she engulfed Italy in a hug. She was relieved to feel him whole heartedly hug back. "Thank you, Hungary." Italy said quietly as he was released.

"Hey, kid! Good to see ya!" Saxony greeted as he entered the foyer, followed by Hesse and Bavaria. Italy spared the Germanics a smile as they entered; mostly out of politeness. "And the prodigal daughter returns!" Bavaria announced loudly as he gave Italy a one-arm welcome-home hug. Hesse gave Italy a pat on the back. At Bavaria's words, Italy considered correcting him but dropped the matter quickly when the door behind him suddenly swung open again.

"Prussia! Brandenburg! Welcome!" Hungary said cheerfully as the albino man and a dark haired woman entered the foyer. Brandenburg and Hungary almost immediately were at each other's sides and began to chat in happy tones. Prussia, after smacking Italy on the back playfully, joined his brothers—excluding Austria of course. Italy watched the scenes around him with no real comprehension of what he should do. Before, he would have naturally fallen into place in the scene. Either joining Hungary and Brandenburg's conversation or playing along in the Germanic brothers antics. Sometimes even hanging around with Austria, who was usually the one who would feel out of place in the scene. Now it was Italy who was out of place.

No one seemed to even notice Italy…and maybe that was for the best, Italy silently decided as he exited the foyer and began to walk down the corridors of Austria's house to his old room. He was silent and solemn as he walked, not caring who passed him in the halls. Everything was back to normal.

"Italy?"

Until he heard that voice call from behind him. The voice he hadn't heard in decades. Holy Rome's voice.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy Episode 10—No matter what happens…**

**Again, a reminder of their physical ages. **

**Italy-14 now, his military activity as given him a growth spurt and he is now 14 in appearance.**

**Romano-15, almost 16**

**Holy Rome-13**

**Austria, Hungary, Prussia, etc-early to late 20s'**

**Brandenburg-despite being about the same age as the adults, she only looks about 17**

**Also, to all my loyal reader of this story-Thank you! You are all so freakin' awesome! Your reviews always bring a smile to my face, and even those of you who don't review, I thank you all so much and without you, this story may not have been continued! I have just recently started writing the final chapter of this story and I can put the deadline for it to be posted at around late October or early December! It's not finished yet, so many of you have the oppertunity still to out in your input or just say what you think might happen. Again, thank you, enjoy the story!**

* * *

"Holy Rome!" Italy shouted as he whirled around. The sight before him a second later stunned him.

Holy Rome had grown into a tall—but still shorter than Italy—teenage boy, with blond hair hanging his face—probably to Austria's dismay—and in his dark blue eyes. He was dressed in the clothes of a soldier and looked quite handsome. Yes, Holy Rome had surely grown into a fine young man. But the thing that shocked Italy most about Holy Rome's appearance was the hard look in his eyes. It didn't last long though, because the second Holy Rome saw Italy's face his eyes softened and a smile lit up his face.

"Italy!" Holy Rome shouted with joy as he rushed forward and engulfed Italy in a bone-crushing embrace. Italy, after a moment of shock, hugged back with equal joy. "Italy! I missed you so much! I thought of you everyday, I swear! I was so worried when I heard you ran away! But I understand, Hungary and Austria explained everything! You don't need to gain your freedom to save me—you don't need to save me at all! It's my job to protect you, so don't worry!" Holy Rome said as he continued to hug Italy close. He spoke so fast Italy barely made out all of what he had said.

So the ploy he used from the night he had left worked, Italy thought to his self. They probably all thought he was real heroic or something, Italy thought to himself with no joy as he now half-heartedly hugged Holy Rome.

"I'm so happy to be back! Soon we can get married and—"

"No!" Italy cut Holy Rome off with a quick and curt denial. Holy Rome was shocked to say the least. He released the Italian and backed away to him in the eyes. His shock, sadness, and confusion plain on his face. "What? Italy, what do you mean—" "No." Italy said again, with out any emotion, his face impassive. "I will not marry you. No matter what, I will not marry you." Italy said, his words dripping in seriousness and determination. Holy Rome's eyes widened as he realized exactly what Italy meant.

"Italy! I thought—you said you would—Dammit Italy, why not!?" Holy Rome finally snapped. Italy stood his ground and his gaze hardened a little. "I will not marry you." Italy said with finality before walking away.

Once around the corner, he began to run. When he reached his room he locked the door behind him and fell into his bed. Sobs racked his body and tears began to flow; the façade he had put up in front of Holy Rome had broken both their hearts and he just couldn't take it. He waited until his sobs subsided, then reached under his bed. His things had already been brought up to their room, and he had asked that his art supplies from Venice be put under his bed.

He pulled out a box of pastels and set it on his mattress. He opened the box to reveal a multitude of bright colored pastels—but he wasn't interested in them. He carefully shifted through the pastels until he felt the sharp edge of the ceramic triangle from Venice. Austria had made sure he had no weapons on him when he came back, but he hadn't checked for anything harmful in Italy's art supplies.

Taking the triangle from the box and rolling up his sleeves, Italy took a deep breath and examined his arms. Each arm had about fifteen healing cuts and it seemed a few were already scaring. While some would have found it gruesome and disturbing, Italy was completely unfazed and instead placed the ceramic shard against an unmarred patch of skin of his arm.

Slowly, Italy pressed the sharp edge into his skin and began to drag it across his arm, leaving red trail in its path. It stung and hurt, the blood began to drip down his arm into the crook of his elbow where it would drip down to the floor. But Italy didn't care, as his emotional pain was overpowered by the physical pain. He continued to cut himself for who knows how long, and as he did he let his thoughts wander.

_He hates me now…Holy Rome hates me now, I know it. Ve~! My worst nightmare has come true! He hates me! He hates me! I've failed! I have nothing to live for…nothing…So much pain…why can't it end…why can't I die…_

Italy's thoughts abruptly stopped there. He looked down at his now bloody arm and let his eyes wander from the crook of his elbow to the only clean and uncut part of his arm; his wrist. Could he really do it? End it all right here and now? End himself and his nation?

If he did, Romano would most likely become the personification of the entirety of Italy. Italy couldn't help but smile at the fact that if he was gone Romano would finally have a chance to shine. Both their pains would be gone.

If he did it right now, what would happen though? Who would find him? How would they react? Italy felt a pain in chest at the thought of Hungary, or worse, Holy Rome coming to his room to check on him and finding him lifeless on his bed. It would be horrible; Italy could never do that to them.

Perhaps then, he could go jump off a cliff somewhere? No, Italy thought, I'm too much of a coward to do that. But then again, wasn't suicide a coward's way out any way? How fitting, Italy thought wryly.

Italy looked down on his red smeared arm once again, then down at the small drops on blood on his bed sheets, and finally at the small pool of blood on the wood floor of his bedroom. "Ve, so much blood I've spilled…" Italy said aloud almost sorrowfully. Then something dawned on him. "I've spilled a lot of blood in the last few weeks, Ve…"

"Those soldiers at Austria's camp…" Visions of the Austrian men he cut down and shot during the raiding of the camp flashed briefly before his eyes. They were all so young and never had a chance against the French soldiers that were bearing down on them. They were scared and unprepared, and Italy had seen this and used it to his advantage. It wasn't a battle, it had been a massacre.

"Austria…" The image of Austria falling to his knees has blood began to seep from his side flashed in front of his eyes. While Italy didn't kill him, or even planned to kill him, he had still willingly shot down the man who had been his big brother figure for the last few centuries. He had betrayed Austria in so many ways; it was unforgivable.

"The Austrian forces…" Italy had helped Napoleon drive the Austrian forces out of North Italy. He remember the small battles in which he would help lead the charge and fought and killed along side the French soldiers. He watched so many die and killed so many his self. By the end of the battle, his hands and uniform were always covered in the enemy's blood, and gunpowder.

"So much blood…" Italy murmured as he looked at his blood covered, sliced up arm. He was in an almost trance like state and had a far away look in his eyes. Slowly, he brought the ceramic up to his wrist.

"I don't deserve to live…after all I've done." Italy murmured as he began to press and dr—

Italy found his hand being yanked away from his wrist and put into a hand's iron grip. He looked up and saw someone he never expected. The person who had stopped him from ending his life was—

"Brandenburg?"

* * *

Brandenburg didn't say a word; she only wretched the ceramic shard out of Italy's grip and threw it to the ground with enough force to shatter it into a million pieces. Italy watched, stunned, as the dark haired woman then looked him in the eye with angry dark eyes.

"Vhat do you think you were doing?" Brandenburg asked in a deathly calm voice that didn't match her furious gaze. Italy hunched his shoulders out of fear and felt himself begin to tremble under her gaze. "I—I don't—I was—Ve, I was—" His stuttered reply was cut off by Brandenburg forcing Italy to his feet and her iron grip on his wrist tightening painfully.

"Don't play dumb! You were about to commit suicide! You were about to take the coward's way out!" Brandenburg shouted.

Something in Italy snapped. "Well, maybe I am a coward! I always have been and I always will! I can't win anything and I will always be an underling! My life is worthless so why not let its ending be fitting!?" Italy shouted angrily, yanking his wrist out her grip with surprising force. Brandenburg was surprised for a second but quickly got her bearings again.

"Your life isn't worthless, Italy! And you aren't a coward! If you were a coward you wouldn't have ran away in the first place! But right now—by doing this to your self," Brandenburg said with anger and desperation, pointing at Italy's bloody arm. "You _are _being a coward! Worse, you're giving up on life its self; the most cowardly, selfish thing one can do!" At this point tears were rolling down her pale face. Italy was crying as well.

"But I am! I don't deserve to live! I've killed so many and spilled so much blood in the last few weeks! And for nothing! Nothing but to just end up back here at Austria's house as an underling! It was all for nothing! All those people I killed were for nothing!" Italy cried. Italy couldn't even look Brandenburg in the eye, instead choosing to look at his own blood on the floor boards.

Brandenburg took a firm hold of Italy's shoulders. "Italy, that was not for nothing! You proved that you were capable of gaining independence! The only reason you didn't was because Napoleon double crossed you! But you still proved to Austria and all of us—Romano and France included—that you are capable of more than they think! You proved that you aren't useless or a coward or weak! You are strong Italy—stronger than any of us can hope to be!" Brandenburg said as she held Italy.

"How am I strong?" Italy asked brokenly through his tears. "You are strong because no matter what happened, no matter who bullied you or what they did, no matter what punishment Austria gave you, or who took you over or tried to invade you, no matter how bleak the situation, you persevered and held strong. You may have cried or surrendered, but you survived and never let it bring you down or change who you were. You adapted, you lived, and you went on to live another day no matter what. You didn't become like Romano and develop trust issues and guard your heart, and you didn't turn into Russia who went insane and began to hurt those who hurt him. You were _strong. _No one may see it through your pasta eating ways or your cowardliness, but you are strong in so many ways." Brandenburg explained softly as she hugged Italy close.

Italy hugged her back and felt his heart warm at her words. For the first time in a while, his emotional pain was soothed not by physical pain, but by the kind words.

_I'm stronger than this! I can't let this keep me down! I have to keep moving forward—I have to keep going and going until the day finally comes that I can be with Holy Rome without having to break either of our hearts. When we can be together without being married and becoming an empire together—when we can be together without war and bloodshed!_

Italy felt a sense of peace over take him as he promised himself that he would keeping moving forward and live…no matter what happens.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy **

**Episode 11-A New Battle**

"Italy…she said she…she said she would never ever marry me." Holy Rome confided in his brothers Austria and Prussia. Austria, of course, was shocked, while Prussia seemed intrigued in his own awesome way.

"Vhy? Did ya do something to upset her or somethin'?" Prussia asked. He immediately received a glare from Holy Rome for his comment. "No! I never did a thing! I wasn't here and she said she would wait for me, so I don't understand vhy she's being this way!" Holy Rome shouted at his albino brother with irritation. Prussia shrugged off his yelling easily—he was used to it by now. "All I'm saying is that she must have a reason for not vanting to marry you. Seriously, there has to be at least one reason, right?" Prussia reasoned. Holy Rome was quiet for a few long silent moments before speaking.

"I…I wasn't here…maybe, maybe she got fed up with waiting for me or something—but I'm back now so vhy should that matter?" Holy Rome said with a broken tone. A long moment of silence passed. "Perhaps," Austria began. "She doesn't want that to happen again. You were gone for so long…maybe…she doesn't want to marry you so she won't have to relive the pain again someday." Holy Rome was quiet for a moment before a huge smile spread over his face. "You're right Austria! Vhy else would she say such a thing? I know what I have to do!" Holy Rome said, then he fled the room they had all been sitting in, calling, "Thank you, brothers!" over his shoulder. And then there were two…

…

"Let's leave this room before it gets awkward and we're forced to talk with each other." Austria said as he stared at Prussia directly in the eye. "Agreed, Four-eyes." Prussia replied dryly.

* * *

After Brandenburg helped Italy clean up his wounds and both recovered from their tearful conversation, she had basically forced Italy to go change so they could go horse back riding together in the woods and nearby hills. Italy, having nothing else to wear for such an activity, threw on his French uniform and military boots. He thought Brandenburg would be surprised to see him so male looking, but she wasn't in the least.

"Well of course you look like a boy. I'm not as dense as Prussia and the others; I know a handsome young man in the making when I see one." Brandenburg had said with a wink, making Italy blush a little. "I mean, seriously, how do they not notice Hungary referring to you as 'he' and 'him' all the time? Somewhere Germania must be wondering where he went wrong!" Brandenburg had laughed, causing Italy to join her.

It had been a nice ride, and no one had seen them, so no one saw Italy in his male attire. No one had seen him walking to his room either. When he arrived back in his room, it was near 3 pm—Siesta time! Italy stripped down so he was completely naked and climbed under his sheets.

He quickly fell asleep; however, it was hot in his bedroom, causing the young Italian to sweat and toss and turn in his sleep. His sheets became rumpled, and the room filled with the musky smell of a sweaty teenage boy. The smell mixed with the smells of the girl's perfume that often contaminated his luandary because his luandry was done with Hungary's, and the smell of blood from earlier. Somehow, while taking his nap, Italy ended up with pillow over his face, successfully covering his face and most of his hair.

So there he was, lying in bed, with the sheets wrapped around his otherwise bare waist, his male chest bare and sweaty, and a pillow concealing his identity. The smells of the room were misleading, as were the male and female clothing scattered haphazardly across the floor.

This is what Holy Rome found when he suddenly burst into Italy's room a few minutes after his talk with his brothers.

He had burst in, and had began to say, "Italy, I understand now! Don't worry, I won't abandon you. I'm giving up on becoming a-" But after a minute, he stopped and examined the scene. His blue eyes widened. His mouth fell into a gape. Horror and heart break surged through his system at a million miles an hour.

His only thought was, "T-There's a…There's a man in Italy's bed. Italy—Italy's cheating on me!" And that's all his brain processed before he found himself exiting the room quickly, slamming the door shut behind him, and running away as fast as he could—a trail of tears drops following him.

And through all of this, Italy slept peacefully unaware that a new battle had begun in his life.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy **

**Episode 12—A lovers' quarrel and a plan to fix it**

It was dinner time at Austria's house. Four hours after Holy Rome had barged into Italy's room and saw—at least what he thought was—Italy's secret affair.

All the young Germanic could think of as he pushed around his food was, why? Why would she do this to him? He just couldn't for the life of him figure it out. Was he too late with his proclamation? Had Italy decided not to marry him and find someone else because she didn't want to experience the same pain all over again if Holy Rome had to leave again? Or…Had this other man been the reason for Italy's odd behavior in the first place?

Holy Rome couldn't bear the thought of Italy having tried to recede from the empire and abandon him because of another man. But if so, who was this man? That was another question swirling in Holy Rome's mind.

Italy was sitting across from him, her happy smile back on her face as usual after a long hiatus. It almost sickened Holy Rome to see it after what he saw earlier.

Italy was in a fairly cheerful mood however, none the wiser to what Holy Rome saw or thought. Italy, after his talk with Brandenburg, was filled with new life. He couldn't believe that not even twelve hours ago he had contemplated ending it. He planned to use his new life to save his relationship with Holy Rome.

"Holy Rome?" Italy ventured, his soft and girlish voice breaking through the quiet of the meal. All the eyes in the room went to Italy, though his eyes were focused on Holy Rome. Oddly, Holy Rome did not seem too pleased by Italy wanting to speak with him. "Vhat is it, Italy?" Holy Rome asked rather dully. Italy felt his enthusiasm deflate a bit, but he continued. "I…I just wanted to say," Italy began rather shyly, much to Brandenburg and Hungary's amusement. "That I take back what I said earlier." Italy finished with a beam directed at Holy Rome.

There was silence.

Everyone was thinking and feeling something different in this silent moment. Hese was on edge and wondering why the atmosphere had suddenly changed. Bavaria was disinterested and mentally scrutinizing everyone's behavior. Saxony was worried and wondering why Holy Rome was so quiet. Prussia was shocked and wondering why Italy had brought this up now, hadn't they spoken about it earlier, after Holy Rome left to go talk with her. Austria felt an odd sense of fear and was pretty much thinking the same as Prussia. Brandenburg was anxious and had one hand reaching for Prussia's hand for support, and another hand reaching for her dinner knife just in case things got ugly. Hungary's battle instinct had kicked in for some reason and had her reaching for her frying pan.

Italy was confused as to why Holy Rome was so quiet. Wasn't he happy?

Holy Rome…he was angry.

"Tell me Italy, I'm I the only one you have ever loved? Like as a lover, not family or a friend?" Holy Rome asked as he stared directly into Italy's golden eyes. Those golden eyes blinked in confusion for a brief moment before the mouth below them uttered, "Yes. You are the only one, Ve."

Holy Rome's stare turned into a glare and he rose from his seat to his feet (A/N: Don't cha love rhymes?). "Then tell me vhy," the young teen seethed as he stared across the table at Italy, the so called _love of his life_. She simply stared up at him confusedly and innocently, making his anger double. How _dare_ she play innocent to her crimes! "Tell me vhy there was a man in your bed when I went to see you in your room earlier!" Holy Rome yelled furiously.

An up roar followed Holy Rome's proclamation, of course. Austria was scandalized by Holy Rome's words; he was half torn between believing what Holy Rome said he had witnessed and believing Italy would never do such a thing. Hese and Saxony were flabbergasted; neither could decide whether to believe it or not, so instead settled on trying to calm Holy Rome down. Bavaria, whom was saw no reason not to believe HRE's words, decided to believe Holy Rome and promptly called Italy some choice unkind names. This earned him a frying pan to the face from Hungary, who then, with the help of Brandenburg, escorted Italy out of the room. Prussia was shell shocked for most of it; frozen in shock, not really caring about the situation, just wondering why God hated him and decided to make his life chaotic, weird, and just down right unawesome sometimes.

* * *

"Italy, why would Holy Rome find a man in your room?" Hungary asked gently as she handed the crying boy a cup of tea. Italy whimpered and shook his head sadly. "I don't know. There has never been a man in my room as far as I can tell, not even Austria or Holy Rome." Italy said in-between his sobs and tears. Brandenburg patted his back reassuringly. "This is all a big misunderstanding, okay? I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for vhy he thought he saw a man in your room." Brandenburg said. Hungary's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Or maybe he _did_ see a man in Italy's room!" Hungary said aloud as if she had just found the cure for every disease in the world. Brandenburg's first reaction was to glare at the Hungarian, while Italy's was to let loose a whole new round of sobs. Catching her own mistake, Hungary explained herself.

"Italy, did you by chance take a nap today in your room?" Hungary asked. Italy nodded. "Ve, yes. I had a siesta around three and slept naked in my bed." Italy said. Hungary smirked. Brandenburg and Italy blinked.

…

_Smack! Slap!_

Brandenburg and Italy face palmed.

"I can't believe I ruined my life with a nap! I'm never taking a siesta ever again!" Italy wailed as he ran his hands through his hair in distress and let more tears flow down his cheeks. Brandenburg and Hungary just shook their heads at the boy and sighed, both knowing that promise wouldn't last long.

"It's okay Italy, I have a plan!" Hungary announced cheerfully. Immediately Italy and Brandenburg had their attentions trained on her. "We'll tell Holy Rome and everyone you're a boy!" Hungary cheered. However, her gleeful smile faded after a moment when she realized that Italy and Brandenburg weren't exactly enthusiastic about her idea.

"What? Why not?" Hungary asked, throwing her hands above her head for emphasis. "Vell~…um, you see, I don't quite think that's a good idea." Brandenburg said awkwardly. Hungary huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not?" "Vell, for starters, they won't believe it. I mean, look at Italy!" Brandenburg said, pointing at Italy next to her on the couch.

It was true, Italy did seem rather feminine in the maid's dress and with his high-pitched and girlish voice. Heck, his behavior was girlish. If they tried to tell everyone he was a boy, none of them would believe it unless Italy stripped butt naked in front of them. Which Austria would never allow no matter what.

"Hm, you're right, Brandenburg." Hungary said as she tapped her chin in thought. Then, a-yet-to-be-invented-light bulb went on in her head! A grin spread over her features. "However, we could always give Italy a little makeover."

"Huh?" "Vhat?" Italy and Brandenburg asked respectively in confusion and curiosity. "We'll give Italy a makeover. When we get the chance, we'll put Italy in boy's clothes and have him do something manly, like show off his awesome weapon accuracy! The others will _accidentally_ stumble upon him practicing, he'll reveal his identity and BAM! Everyone lives happily ever after!" Hungary explained.

While Brandenburg eagerly agreed with Hungary's plan, Italy developed a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. This can't end well, Italy thought to himself. Nevertheless, he decided to proceed with the plan. It was his last hope after all.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy **

**Episode 13—The makeover**

The men (sans Italy of course) had all left for a hunting trip earlier that morning. It had been a week since the incident at dinner and everyone was glad to do something fun to ease the tension in the house.

Ever since that night, Holy Rome had refused to speak to Italy, even going as far as to blatantly ignoring Italy's presence in a room. What was worse was that by now everyone had taken sides. Austria, having basically raised Italy and after being persuaded by Hungary, had decided to join Team 'Italy-didn't-cheat', Prussia, after hearing Holy Rome's side of the story, was on Team 'Italy-did-cheat', much to Brandenburg's displeasure. Saxony, who just couldn't believe Italy would do such a thing, was on the same team as Austria, while Hese and Bavaria were on the same team as Prussia. To put it in layman's terms, everyone was on the verge of war over the situation.

So, at Prussia's suggestion, all the men had left to go hunting, leaving the girls to do their own thing.

* * *

"Here Italy, we got these in town a few days ago. It was Hell trying to hide them from the help and the men." Brandenburg said as she handed the stack of the clothing to the young Italian. There was a fresh white button-up shirt, a green jacket with gold trim, a carvat, a darker green vest, white breeches and stockings, and shiny black riding boots. Italy took the clothes into the bathroom and changed, and when reemerged, Hungary and Brandenburg were speechless.

Italy looked not only extremely handsome, but also rather striking. In his regal new clothes, Italy looked rather noble; but the thing that made him look even more imposing was his fierce, golden eyes, that shown with a great determination. They were very familiar eyes, Hungary thought to herself, she just couldn't remember where she had seen them before other than on Italy.

"You look…magnificent." Brandenburg breathed. "Ve~! Thank you!" Italy said as he walked over to a table in the corner of the room. Slinging the bow and the sheath of arrows over his shoulder, Italy turned and smiled at Brandenburg and Hungary.

"Wish me luck!" Italy said with a nervous smile.

"You'll be just fine Italy, don't worry." Brandenburg said with a well-meaning smile. Suddenly, it disappeared, though, and was replaced with a rather threatening look. The same happened to Hungary.

"Just don't you dare wimp out on us. This whole fight between you and Holy Rome is causing a lot of trouble." Hungary said with a rather..annoyed tone.

"Yeah! It's ruining our sex lives!" Brandenburg said.

There was a long, awkward silence after that until finally Italy left. Then Hungary and Brandenburg had a long, long talk about keeping things to your self and not talking about your friend's sex lives in front of others.

* * *

After a successful hunting trip, the Germanic men returned from the nearby forest to Austria's house, bringing fresh kills with them. Bavaria had taken down a fairly large buck which he planned to have mounted over his fireplace as soon as he got home to his own house. Hese had trapped some rabbits and was planning to use them to make rabbit stew; his personal favorite meal since he was a child. Saxony had managed to shoot down some birds—one of which being an eagle! He was very proud of it. Prussia had taken down an average sized buck, by luck managed to catch a fox. Holy Rome was very proud of the buck he had killed. Even, Austria, who was a horrible shot, had managed to take down a buck, too.

Yes, it was very successful, relaxing, and fun hunting trip.

"Hey, everyone stop a second." Bavaria suddenly shouted abruptly. Everyone halted their horses and waited a moment in silence. "Vhat are—" Hesse' question was cut off by a quick 'shh' from Bavaria. Everyone stayed silent. Until Prussia said in hushed voice, "I hear it, too." "Vhat?" Austria asked in an equally hushed voice. "Arrows." Holy Rome answered, not looking at Austria, but instead off to the left of the horse trail and into the forest brush. Austria then noticed that all his brothers were doing the same.

Austria felt a bit of shame that he lacked his brother's skills. It was times like these that he wished he had rough housed and trained with his brother's while under Germania's care, and listened to tales of war and the pagan gods instead of practicing the arts and learning etiquette. But then he heard a light _Swoosh!_ sound, followed by the sound of a light _Thunk! _

Had he just heard—no, Austria didn't have the same advanced battle sense as his brothers. But then he heard it again. Soon, he could actually make out clearly what the sound was as he concentrated on it. It was—it was arrows hitting wood!

Austria felt a surge of pride as he and his brothers all rode towards the sound.

They rode their horses off the trail and up a small slope, and finally through some brush. Finally, they entered a clearing. It was maybe about 50 yards in length and 30 yards in width. The forest floor was barren of grass, except around the edges, and the sun shown brightly on the tightly packed soil of the clearing. As the Germanics examined the clearing they noticed a boy—perhaps a little older than Holy Rome as he was taller—who wore a green coat. The boy was aiming a bow and arrow at a target; a bull's eye painted on a tree.

"Who are you? What are you doing on my property?" Austria shouted at the boy's back. No human, beside staff and political officials, was allowed to be on a nation's property. The boy didn't answer; he just released the arrow and sent it with deadly accuracy into the center of the target. This impressed some of Austria's brothers. "Woah, kid! Nice shot!" Hesse cheered. Saxony and Bavaria whole heartedly agreed. "Hello, boy! Turn around!" Bavaria shouted, wanting to see the face of such a good shot.

The boy slowly set down the bow and slipped the sheath of arrows off his shoulders. Then, he turned around.

"Wha…?"

"Is—is this a joke!?"

"Vhat is the meaning of this?!"

"How is this—Vhat's going on?!"

"Vhat the hell!?"

"I-Italy!?"

Everyone's eyes were wide with horror and/or surprise.

Italy was the boy.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy Episode 14—The Last Chase**

**A/N: Sorry, readers! I have had no internet for the last few weeks and couldn't post! But i was able to keep writing and am currently working on the last chapter of this story! Please Review! Tell me off if you like, I deserve it! Just tell me how you like this story-I need feed back!**

* * *

"It-Italy…is that you?" Holy Rome could barely get out the words. This couldn't be real. This boy couldn't be Italy; yet that face could be no one else's, not even Romano's. Italy—or who ever it was—simply smiled a bright and cheerful smile. "Yeah…it is." Italy said in a quiet, but happy and somewhat nervous voice. Hearing Italy's girlish voice come out of the boy's mouth solidified that, yes, Italy was the boy. A boy. A male. A God damn guy!

Everyone was stunned silent; awkwardly silent. Italy just stood there before the group of men—who had now dismounted their horses—and waited for a reaction. The 'Oh, cool, you're a dude. We're okay with that and Holy Rome still loves you' or the 'Oh God, you're a guy! That's awful, Holy Rome hates you now!" He hoped it was the former that he received. Holy Rome couldn't even comprehend what was going on anymore. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. How had he not realized sooner?

Had there been signs? No. None that Holy Rome could remember. Why hadn't Italy told him? Was he trying to keep it a secret? If so, why? Why…why had Italy lied?...Italy lied. Holy Rome felt a brief moment of clarity as he realized that Italy, the love of his life who may or may not have cheated on him with another man (though by now, Holy Rome didn't know _what_ to believe), had lied to him for centuries about who he was. Why would he lie? Was everything he had ever told him a lie, too? What reason could Italy have…other than…unless if…Italy didn't really love Holy Rome…ever.

Holy Rome felt tears prick the corner of his eyes as he came to this conclusion. The only reason why Italy would have a reason to lie to Holy Rome about his gender is unless he was just leading Holy Rome on and pretended to love him out of pity. Italy never loved me, Holy Rome thought as he began to remount his horse, tears beginning to streak down his cheeks.

"Holy Rome, vhat are you doing?" Austria asked as he looked over his shoulder to see the boy now mounted on his horse again. "Holy Rome?" Italy asked, not understanding what was going on. Holy Rome simply turned his horse around, and before riding off, looked over his shoulder and said in a stone-cold voice, "I…I can never forgive you." What he said shocked everyone in the clearing. "Wait, Holy Rome! This is no reason to—", Austria's protests were cut short by the back hoof of Holy Rome's horse colliding with his forehead. A second later, not even caring that his spooked horse may have seriously hurt Austria, Holy Rome took off into the forest, leaving a trail of dust and group of confused and upset men.

"Hey, Austria! You okay?" Bavaria asked the aristocrat who had just stumbled to his feet and was still swaying. "Jaaaaaa~, I—I think so~!" Austria answered with a wavering voice and dizzy look in his eye. Saxony and Hesse took this as their cue to grab Austria's arms and hold him upright so he wouldn't lose his balance and fall. Italy was quiet, too stunned to care about Austria's possible brain injury.

Holy Rome had run away. Holy Rome had run away from Italy. Worse, he had said that he would…would never forgive Italy. That in its self had condemned any chances of their relationship surviving. Everything was over.

Unless Italy went after him.

Quickly, Italy shouldered his bow and arrows and ran over to one of the dismounted horses; Austria's horse to be precise. "Wait," Austria protested as he saw Italy mount the horse, "Don't go! We need to speak about this! Why did you not say you were a—" Austria's sentence was cut off yet again by yet another horse hoof to the head. He was sent flying to the ground once again as Italy rode off in the same direction Holy Rome had, leaving the Germanics in the dust.

"Austria! Austria! Are you okay?" Saxony shouted as he kneeled beside Austria's bruised, unconscious form. "Forget it, Saxony. He's out cold." Bavaria said in his rough voice as he absent-mindedly looked off in the direction Holy Rome and Italy had gone. "We should get him back to the manor." Hesse said as he lifted the aristocrat from under his arms, while Saxony grabbed his legs. "But what about Holy Rome and Italy?" Prussia asked. "You and I will go after them," Bavaria said, "Hesse and Saxony will go take Austria back to the manor."

A few moments later, Hesse had Austria slung over the back part of his saddle, secured by the rope that had been used to hold the deer carcass before, but now said carcass had been cast to the edge of the clearing for the scavengers to have at. "We'll see you soon." Saxony said with a worried tone. Something about this situation gave him a bad feeling about the near future. "Don't worry," Bavaria said, knowing how his little brother must feel, "Everything will work out." And with that he took off. Prussia didn't, though. "Prussia," Hesse began worriedly, "Vhy aren't you going?" "I have a bad feeling, that's all." Prussia answered as he, too, finally took off. However, he was unable to shake the strong sense of foreboding that he felt.

* * *

The forest zoomed past in blurs of different shades of green and brown. The horse's hooves hit the dirt in a quick and steady mantra as the animal sped at a break-neck pace through the woods. Its rider, the nation known as Italy, bent forward and held fast to the reigns of the beast, allowing the animal to run without much wind resistance. They needed this speed; actually, Italy was the one who needed this speed. More importantly, he needed to find Holy Rome.

Italy didn't know how long he had been riding, and he didn't care, either. His only thought was to find Holy Rome so he could explain everything: why he hadn't revealed his gender, that he hadn't cheated, and why he ran away from Austria's house in the first place. He needed to, or else he and Holy Rome's relationship—their love—would not survive.

As he rode, Italy couldn't help up curse the world. It was like the whole of the universe was against Holy Rome and Italy being together; like life its self was trying to destroy their relationship. From the moment they had gotten together, something had always kept Holy Rome and Italy apart. The Thirty Years War, Napoleon, Italy's misgivings towards becoming an empire, Holy Rome's false assumption that Italy had cheated, and the latest blow to their relationship, the reveal of Italy's gender. All of it, from the beginning, had worked against them; but why? Why did the universe want to keep them apart? What purpose did destroying their love serve? Italy wished for a sign—something—that would give him an answer. Not just an answer to why he and Holy Rome were kept apart, but if they could ever be together at all.

The horse began to strain for breath; they had been riding too long. Slowing down, Italy stopped at a watering hole so the horse could rest and drink. He dismounted as the steed drank thirstily, deciding to stretch his legs a little and think.

He had been following the hoof trails that Holy Rome's horse had left in their path. There had also been broken branches and disrupted bushes throughout the forest that indicated someone recklessly riding their horse very fast through the woods. It looked like Holy Rome was heading west, most likely towards either the nearest city or back to the war front. Italy hoped to God that when he caught up to Holy Rome, it wouldn't be on a battle field. Despite how much time had passed, Italy was still shaken by his dream from months before.

However, it didn't look like Italy would have much time left to track down Holy Rome. The sky was covered in grey clouds that seemed to grow darker by the hour, not only that but the sun would set in a few more hours. Italy was on time limit. Any bad weather would make it that much harder to find Holy Rome, and riding in the middle of the night was dangerous enough, Italy knew. When he had ran away that one night, even with the lantern, he had been scratched and hit by several branches, nearly gotten lost many times, and had even fallen off Daisy once. Italy needed to find Holy Rome quickly.

Before it was too late.

* * *

Romano could put up with many things, despite popular belief. He could handle screaming children, he could put up with annoyingly talkative women, he could even put up with his brother most of the time, but one thing that Romano could not put up with, would not put up with, and never will put up with, is the Empire known as Spain.

"Oh~! Romano~! Are you upset, mi Tomato? Don't worry, Boss will fix it!" Spain cheered in his usual overly happy and nice way, and then proceeded to serenade Romano with his happiness charm, "Fusososososo~!" That was the last straw.

Spain had heard about what Veneziano had done and had come over to the Italian brothers' home in Venice to see if he was alright. That was the first straw. Spain had come to see _Veneziano,_ not Romano. Then, when he had shown up and seen Veneziano wasn't there, he said, "Italy isn't here? But I wanted to see the cutie and congratulate—" Spain's sentence had been cut short by Romano's famous head-butt. That had been the second straw. The third straw, and the last, was Spain being an oblivious bastard and not realizing his mistakes. God, Romano hated that Tomato-bastard! Well, okay, maybe he liked him a little—Shut up! He didn't like Spain! At all! Ever! Nada! No way! Never!

Romano picked up a vase off one of the tables of the house and carefully began to aim it at Spain's smiling face. He usually would just throw it randomly and hope for the best, but it would be embarrassing if he missed and Spain laughed at him. Then Romano would blush, then the Tomato-bastard would call him a cute little tomato, and then Romano would just end up throwing another vase. And thus the cycle repeats itself. And frankly, Romano couldn't afford throwing and smashing a dozen antique vases at the moment.

He had the vase raised above his head and pulled it slightly behind his head, too. He was about to throw. 3…Romano eased the vase back…2…Romano carefully aimed…1…Romano swung his arm forward, watching the vase fly out of his hand in Spain's direction, and right into…_Thump!_...the arm chair behind Spain, where it landed softly, safely, and almost soundlessly. Romano almost felt like crying-but he wouldn't! Especially in front of the Tomato-Bastard!

"Are you better now, Roma?" Spain asked cheerfully as he finished his chant. Romano, now soaking in despair and shame, simply waltzed past Spain and over to the arm chair. He picked up the vase, which confused Spain because he didn't remember a vase being there before and it was an odd place for a decoration, and began to take it back over to its original place on the pedestal next to the sitting room entrance. As he placed it carefully, fixing it at the perfect angle, as he was an Italian and thus knew how to decorate very well, he noticed something peculiar about the antique.

The vase was covered in thin lines from where cracks and breaks had been repaired. Sure, it was an old piece—a gift Grandpa Rome had received from Ancient Greece back in the day—but these cracks were recently repaired, Romano could tell. Then Romano remembered; Veneziano had thrown this very vase at a wall in anger not even a week ago. A servant must have taken it and had it fixed. The vase was in good shape, Romano conceded as he ran his fingers over the cracks, remembering how shocked he had been when he had first heard it break against the stone bricks of sitting room walls. The sound had been shocking and echoed through their large home, and at first, Romano had believed Veneziano had dropped a plate or something. But no; instead, in a rare fit of rage, Veneziano had thrown the object at a wall, shattering it into pieces right before he ran out of the house in rage—or whatever emotion it was. The next time Romano had seen his brother, Veneziano hadn't even spoken or looked Romano in the eye, instead choosing to remain docile for the rest of his stay in Venice and lock himself in his room.

For a brief moment, Romano thought about whether Veneziano was okay or not now. He had been acting so strange before he left; was he alright? Was he sick? Romano just couldn't for the life of him figure out what the heck was wrong with his little brother. It bothered him greatly.

The more he thought about it, the more he needed to know. He needed to see Veneziano. He needed to see if his little brother was okay. He needed to know now!

"I'm going to Austria's house." Romano said curtly as he marched out of the sitting room and into the foyer of the Vargas home. Spain followed of course. "That seems rather abrupt, Romano. What's wrong?" Spain asked as he watched the fifteen—almost sixteen—year old slip on his coat. "Veneziano is what's wrong. Well, or could be wrong. I don't know! I just need to make sure he's okay!" Romano answered as he began to slip on his shoes. Spain was surprised for a moment at how worried and sincere Romano sounded. But then felt a surge of happiness that Romano cared so much about Italy.

Romano began to march out the door, but then stopped in his tracks half-way out the door. Spain worried if Romano's pride had stopped him and he had changed his mind about going to see if Italy was okay. But then Romano said something surprising, "Are you coming or not, Tomato-bastard?" He asked in a slightly annoyed tone, as if it were obvious that Spain was supposed to come along too. Of course, Spain's automatic reaction was pure joy that Romano had asked—okay not asked, but still—for him to accompany him. Spain slipped on his coat and shoes as well, and, after hugging and being head-butted by Romano, followed the Italian teen out of the Venice Mansion.

"We can be at Austria's house within a few hours if we don't bring along any humans." Spain said as he and Romano began to run through the crowded streets of Venice. "Right." Romano agreed.

When they exited the city limits, they began to travel using their nation ability that allowed them to travel across land faster than humans.

* * *

As these nations moved, whether it be to chase or travel, none realized what was at the end of their path. This was the final leg of the journey; this was the final chase for Holy Rome and Italy.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy Episode 15—The Final Blow **

**Note: I own Nothing. Also, I am pleased to annouce that this is the second to last chapter of this story and the last chapter will be out before New Years at most. Please Enjoy! Also, if I don't get at least one comment on this chapter,I will be shocked! So come on, don't be shy, post what you think, guys. Enjoy the story!**

* * *

After remounting his horse, Italy had continued west. If possible, he rode faster than he did before. The sky grew darker; he needed to hurry. He thanked whatever higher being watched over the Earth that he could still see Holy Rome's trail.

Holy Rome must have been moving very fast—or very recklessly—as not long after he remounted his horse, Italy encountered a deer carcass right in the middle of the path. Italy could tell it was Holy Rome's kill because there were no bites or claw marks on the body and there were puncture marks from arrows in the deer's side. This was a good sign, finding the carcass. It meant Italy was on the right track.

However, other obstacles were beginning to rise to add to the already colossal ones in place. The horse Italy had borrowed—stolen—was becoming fatigued—and quickly—and wouldn't hold out much longer, Italy could already hear rain droplets hitting the leaves and tree branches over head in a soft pitter-patter, and he was starting to feel some fatigue of his own.

Italy had yet to fully recover from his relapse in health yet. He had lost a lot of weight while he had been gone from Austria's house, which, despite the growth spurt and muscle he gained from the fighting, had made him weak. Not the weak usually associated with the Italy brothers, but the psychical weak that was associated with the sick or fragile, something that neither the athletic Italies was. Until now. Worse, he had relapsed again. After the blow out with Holy Rome at the dinner table the week before, Italy went back to pushing his food around his plate instead of really eating it. Fortunately, he had not gone back to cutting.

Despite it all, Italy continued his search.

* * *

Saxony and Hesse, with a still-unconscious Austria, arrived back at Austria's house just as the first droplets of rain hit the earth. Brandenburg and Hungary, both appearing to be panicked, were waiting outside for them.

"What happened to Austria?" Hungary shouted with great worry when she caught sight of her unconscious love interest. As Hesse tried to get the man off the horse carefully, Saxony explained. "There was an incident with Italy in the forest. Long story short, Bavaria and Prussia are out looking for Holy Rome and Italy as we speak. It's not looking good." Saxony's words visibly made Brandenburg and Hungary very upset and put them on edge immediately. "This isn't good! They shouldn't be out there, it's too dangerous!" Brandenburg said in distress.

"Calm down, it's just a little rain." Hesse said nonchalantly as he finally gave up on being gentle and simply dragged Austria haphazardly off the horse, earning a glare from Hungary. It was short-lived, however, as she herself began to panic, again. "That's not it! We just got word from scouts in the vicinity; Napoleon and France have been spotted nearby!" Hungary hurriedly, and fearfully, explained.

In that second, time stopped for the Germanic brothers.

* * *

"Wait, stop! Stop, Holy Rome!" Italy called desperately. He had caught up with Holy Rome finally not even a moment ago, and he was so overwhelmingly happy that he had at all. He was so happy, he didn't care that Holy Rome was ignoring his pleas, or that the rain was pelting down on them almost painfully, or that somewhere, deep down inside of him, he knew something bad was about to happen. He didn't care. He should've listened.

Up ahead there was a break in the brush that led into a dirt road and Holy Rome and Italy were quickly approaching it. This was Italy's chance to get Holy Rome to stop; possibly his only chance.

The entire chase, the path that Holy Rome had followed had been narrow, giving Italy no chance to speed up and ride beside him. But now, Italy had an opening not only to gain on Holy Rome and ride beside him, but to stop him completely. The path was wider now and there was a road not even a few meters.

Tightening his grip on the horse's leather reigns, Italy squeezed his heels together, causing the horse to give a burst of extra speed. Soon, Italy found himself whirling right past Holy Rome and his steed, barely slipping in between the other beast and the forest tree line's edge. As he passed, Italy could have sworn he saw a rather comedic expression of surprise on HRE's face. Giving another squeeze of his heels, the horse gave another burst of speed, sending Italy and his steed out of the forest and right into the road ahead.

As the horse's hooves hit the dirt of the road, Italy jerked the reigns towards his chest, causing the horse to start coming to a stop with hooves splashing and skidding through mud puddles. But not even before the horse had made a full stop, Italy dismounted the beast and quickly came to stand directly in the middle of the road, right in front of the forest path he had just come out of.

Italy could hear the quickly approaching hooves of Holy Rome's horse thundering against wet earth. Steeling himself for the worst, Italy waited for Holy Rome—just like he always did. Italy hadn't been standing in the road a minute when Holy Rome and his horse burst out of the forest and into the road as well. Italy almost let out a sigh of relief when Holy Rome, upon seeing Italy in his way, jerked his horse to a stop.

"Holy Rome," Italy said, his voice strained but still clear and resolute, "Please, let me explain." His voice was desperate and pleading, yet Holy Rome didn't bat an eye. "Why should I?" Holy Rome asked icily. It came out even more intimidating from his position still mounted on his horse, looking down on Italy as if he were some criminal scum. Italy, despite becoming increasingly more upset, answered anyway. "Because you misunderstand! That man in my bed was me—I was taking a nap! I didn't tell you my gender because—because," Italy choked a sob, but he continued. "I didn't care and I didn't think it mattered. I'm sorry, Holy Rome! If I knew that me being a boy was such a problem, I would have told you long ago, I—" "It doesn't matter that you're a boy! I still would have loved you! It's that you have lied to me time after time, Italy! How can—how can I love someone who has only ever lied to me? How can I believe that a liar like you ever loved me at all? How do I know if every word you've ever said to me has been a lie or not? Italy—Italy, I can't—" Holy Rome couldn't even finish; if he went any farther he would break down crying, and the last person he wanted to see him cry over Italy right now was Italy himself. But he didn't need to finish for Italy to understand. It was all clear now.

Italy couldn't fight anymore; he couldn't respond, move, speak, or even hardly breathe. Italy just stood there in the rain, stared down at his boots, his golden eyes dead, completely, irrevocable heartbroken. Nothing had mattered, Italy realized. Everything he did, every obstacle he had over come, and every crack his heart endured had been for nothing…well, maybe not _nothing_—it had all led to the total annihilation of his heart, after all, Italy thought sardonically with a small bitter smirk.

There was no hope for Italy and Holy Rome, anymore. That left one last question. "How will all this end, Holy Rome?"


	16. Chapter 16

**The Death of the Holy Roman Empire & The Lost Memories of North Italy **

**Episode 16—Napoleon's Orders and The End of It All**

**A/N: Well, this is it folks! All of you have been awesome and I hope that you enjoy the exciting and dramatic conclusion of my story. I hope you check out my other Hetalia stories and that someday I can write a story like this one again. It really tested my ability to convey comedy and drama in a single, continuous story line, unlike my other series for Vampire Knight, which is less detailed and is not a continuity, but a one shot series. I tried to stay true to Hima-Sensei's characterizations, but still bring drama to the story, while also trying to keep this story from turning into a Dark fic. For the most part, I think you'll enjoy the ending and get a few surprises along the way, too. Now enjoy please!**

* * *

There was no hope for Italy and Holy Rome, anymore. That left one last question. "How will all this end, Holy Rome?"

The two nations stood there in the rain and stared into each other's eyes with deep emotion. But not as they had as children. They did not look at each other with bitter longing for one another, or sadness that they would be separated, but with a dull sense of guilt, a tinge of disgust, and an overwhelming amount of regret, sadness, and heartbreak. They were silent for a long time, both having different reactions to it: Italy felt a large lump forming in his throat, and his eyes were beginning to sting with tears; Holy Rome felt sick to his stomach—about ready to puke—and he could feel tears of his own getting ready to spill over his eyelids.

Italy couldn't wait for an answer any longer; he choked a sob, "Answer me, Holy Rome! How will all this end?...Will I leave and become independent from you and Austria, or will you leave for war, again—and if you do, what will we do when there is no war for you to fight? Will we just end up back here?" Italy shouted over the rain. Holy Rome's answer was silence.

Italy felt anger bubble in the pit of his stomach. So this is how it's going to be, Italy concluded. He gritted his teeth, closed his amber eyes, and took in a deep breath to calm himself. He braced himself to walk away—

_Bang!_

Italy's eyes snapped open in shock. His first sight was Holy Rome staring off at the other end of the road, his blue eyes wide with surprise…and fear?

Italy, as soon as he registered this, whipped around his being to fully face the direction in which Holy Rome stared. The sight before him was shocking, terrifying, and malevolent. "This is bad." Holy Rome said with what seemed like a tremble.

"Very bad." Italy agreed as his amber eyes met the gaze of the French Emperor, Napoleon.

* * *

"What do you mean Italy went after Holy Rome?" Spain asked in confusion and surprise. "We mean what we mean. Italy told Holy Rome his gender; Holy Rome didn't take it well and ran off. Italy went after Holy Rome. Bavaria and Prussia went after Italy, and Saxony and Hesse brought Austria back here because Austria got hit twice in the head by a horse. But now Napoleon and France are out there and Italy, Holy Rome, Bavaria, and Prussia are all in danger. So now we're going after them." Hungary explained hurriedly from behind the curtain she was changing behind. Brandenburg was back there with her doing the same thing.

Soon after Saxony, Hesse, and Austria returned, Spain and Romano arrived as well. Hungary had ordered the maids to tend to the-still-unconscious-Austria, and alerted a messenger to gather some troops, while all the nations—save for the confused Spain and Romano—prepared to go out and look for Italy, HRE, Bavaria, and Prussia. Hungary had tried to explain what was going on, but Spain couldn't quite grasp the situation quite yet; meanwhile, Romano was throwing a fit.

"That idiota! I told him not to do anything stupid! I can't believe him. This is dim-witted even for Veneziano—" Romano continued furiously as Spain yet again tried to process this new information. "So," Spain began slowly, his face twisting up in confusion. "Italy is a boy?"

When Hungary and Brandenburg were done changing, they took turns slapping common sense in and out of Spain.

* * *

"Napoleon," Holy Rome began with a glare and venom in his voice. "What are you doing here?" Napoleon gained a smirk on his face. Italy felt a chill run down his spine when he saw that smirk. He quickly avoided the man's gaze—he didn't know if it was out of fear or…something else. However, as soon as he turned his head away, he could feel Napoleon turn his gaze on him. Shortly after, he heard Napoleon utter triumphant and knowing, "Ah." Italy gritted his teeth and braced himself for the worst.

"Answer me, you dirty Frenchman!" Holy Rome shouted. Napoleon's men, who were lined up in formation behind him, all tensed up, some even blatantly reaching for their guns. Holy Rome himself, ever so slowly, so not to raise suspicions, started reaching for his own gun hidden inside his coat. Italy refused to look back at the scene, however. He gritted his teeth harder. "I'm here to kill you of course. It's a shame, though. France headed back to camp just a few moments ago. So he won't be able to kill you for me." Napoleon said in a condescending tone. Then, something horrible happened.

That damned smirk returned, and Italy felt another chill go up his spine, this one freezing him where he stood in fear.

"However," Napoleon began, "Italy is here."

Holy Rome's blue eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropped into a gape of horror, and slowly he turned his head back towards Italy. Italy refused to look Holy Rome in the eye, instead choosing to stare down at his riding boots and let his body tremble under Holy Rome's gaze.

"Italy?" Holy Rome asked in quiet yet still clearly distressed voice. "Vhat is he talking about, Italy?" Italy was silent. Holy Rome's gaze became a glare. "Answer me, Italy!" He yelled loudly, causing Italy to flinch at the volume. Still, he refused to answer, nor look at Holy Rome. Napoleon, however, did. He now knew how it would all end, now.

"That's how it works, correct? Humans can injure nations, but only other nations can kill them, and even then, the nation must be very weak to die? That's how it works, right, Italy?" Napoleon asked almost sarcastically, aiming the last question specifically at Italy. Italy could feel the man and Holy Rome staring at him, waiting for his answer.

Italy swallowed a gulp of salvia down his throat and, finally, answered, "Yes, that's how it works." Napoleon wasn't satisfied with this answer. "Well, then, I suppose you know what will happen next," Napoleon said. A scowl crept onto his features and he glared at Italy's back, as if warning Italy that he best properly answer his questions. "What will happen next, Italy?" Napoleon asked dangerously. Italy gulped yet again. "That depends. Are you going to order me to…boss?" Italy asked, still trying to avoid what was inevitable. Yet again, Italy sensed Napoleon smirk. He braced himself for what would come next.

"Yes, I order you, North Italy, to slay the Holy Roman Empire!"

* * *

"How are we supposed to find them anyway?" Spain asked as he rode his horse along side Hungary's, Romano bouncing lightly on the back of his saddle. Hungary didn't even bother to glance at Spain as she answered. "Saxony and Hesse said that they went west, and there only so many paths and roads they can take. Our best bet is to just search in this general area." Spain was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

"What will we do if France and Napoleon find them first?" Spain asked after awhile. "Then we fight." Answered Hesse, Saxony nodding his agreement. Spain could almost feel Romano roll his eyes at the Germanics' enthusiasm to get into a fight; something he, as an Italian, usually tried to avoid. "Stupid Germans." Spain heard Romano mutter behind him. Hungary apparently agreed. "We are not getting into any fights unless we absolutely have to, especially considering the few soldiers we're bringing with us. We get find them and go back to Vienna and regroup. _If _we do run into Napoleon we only have two options," Hungary said. "What options?" Romano asked curiously.

"We fight and win, or we fight and die." Brandenburg answered simply with a disturbingly playful smirk aimed at Romano. The Italian went white as a sheet at her words, and flushed red as a tomato at her smirk a second later.

"Aw! Romano, you look like a tomato!" Spain laughed, despite the situation.

This didn't sit well with Romano…or Hungary and Brandenburg.

* * *

Despite knowing what he was going to say, Italy still felt pangs of fear and horror surge through his system. This was the final nail in the coffin, he thought. No more fruitless efforts to fulfill some fairy tale fantasy where everyone lives happily ever after; no more running away from the problem or looking for others to help. Finally, he turned and faced Holy Rome and Napoleon; he turned and faced reality.

"So this is how our story ends, Holy Rome…in tragedy." Italy said quietly as he slowly reached over his shoulder and drew in bow and an arrow. Holy Rome's blue eyes widened with horror and understanding. Italy was going to kill him. "No. Italy, you don't have to do this!" Holy Rome pleaded, dismounting his horse quickly and racing forward recklessly to stand before Italy. Italy didn't dare look into those blue eyes, for fear that he might stop himself. "I'm sorry. But there is nothing left for us; this is the end, Holy Rome. This isn't a fairy tale like we thought as kids; where the hero gets the girl after he wins the big battle and then they live happily ever after. There is no happy ending for us." Italy said as he lined up the arrow on the bow and raised it to aim. His voice and bottom lip were trembling slightly, despite Italy's best efforts. His eyes were red with unshed tears and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying. But still, he aimed the arrow at Holy Rome's heart.

Off to the side of the scene, Napoleon was smirking triumphantly, even signally his men to lower their guns and instead watch the scene as well.

Holy Rome could not will himself to move, not even to reach for his own weapon or run away. He simply stared in horror and sadness as Italy closed his eyes and pulled his arm back, readying himself to release the arrow that would end the Holy Roman Empire.

Italy began to slacken his grip on the arrow and bow's string. Slowly, he let his grip slip—

_Bang!_

"Ah!" Italy let out a screech as he felt something pierce into his wrist painfully. He instantly, he let go of the arrow and bow string, but the blow to wrist had caused him to jolt backwards, tripping over his own feet. So, instead of piercing Holy Rome's heart with deadly accuracy, the arrow was launched upward into the crying sky and came down in an arch to stab into the moist earth. Italy fell back on his bottom on the ground, immediately latching his good hand over his injured, now profusely bleeding wrist. He scrunched up his face in pain and groaned in pain as his head hit the earth.

"Did you really have to shoot him, Bavaria?" Prussia shouted as he and Bavaria both rode out on horse back into the road. Immediately, Napoleon's men raised and began to aim their guns at the new comers. Napoleon was taken aback in shock at what had just happened. Out of nowhere, just as Italy was about to end Holy Rome's life, a bullet had zipped through the air right into Italy wrist with brutal accuracy; if Italy had been a human, he would never be able to use that hand again.

"The Latin-brat was about to off our little brother. What else was I supposed to do?" Bavaria yelled as he dismounted his horse. Prussia did the same, both not even batting an eye at the small army pointing deadly weapons at them. "I don't know!" Prussia said as he and Bavaria nonchalantly swaggered over to Holy Rome's side to stand on either side of him. Holy Rome simply stared at his brothers in shock. "Wipe that look off your face. You look like you ate some bad meat or something." Bavaria said, slapping Holy Rome on his back and out of his stooper. Prussia had the nerve to even ruffle the lad's hair.

Seeing his brothers arrive at the scene, Holy Rome and Italy both knew that the situation had become a million times worse.

* * *

"Where are they?" Saxony asked in frustration as he was smacked in the face by yet another tree branch. Hesse sighed irritable at his brother's remark. "If we knew that," he began touchily. "We wouldn't be looking for them, you ignoramus!" He finished fierily. Saxony glared at his brother, but seeing as Hungary and Brandenburg would probably kill him for it, refrained from further fighting with his brother. He may have been stubborn, but he also had common sense.

"Veneziano! You idiota, show up already so I can go home and eat tomatoes!" Romano whined loudly. He soon found Spain's hand clasped over his mouth. "You must be quiet, Mi Tomato. We must not allow Napoleon and his men to learn our location." Spain whispered softly into Romano's ear. Spain had to restrain himself from commenting on the delightful blush that covered Romano's face suddenly for no apparent reason. "It's raining, bastard. I want to go home." Romano whispered harshly when Spain removed his hand. "But what about Italy and the others?" Spain asked. Romano looked away and became very quiet. "I—"

_Bang!_

Romano froze mid-sentence. Everyone in the group's head snapped in the same direction. "Gunfire." Brandenburg said. "Let's move." Hungary said, taking the lead and starting to turn her horse in the direction from which the sound came. "Excuse me, but why are we heading _towards_ the mysterious gunfire out in the middle of nowhere?" Romano asked slightly panicked. "Because where there is gunfire, there is a fight." Saxony answered. "And where there is a fight, there is Prussia and Bavaria." Hesse added with a sly grin.

Hungary shouted the order to the Austrian soldiers following them to change direction and prepare for potential battle. The nations then began to move—

"Wait, m'lady Hedervary!" One soldier shouted from not far behind.

Hungary and the other nations turned around to see three scouts rushing forward, two of them half-dragging a man with an old potato sack forced over his head. The man, the nations noticed, wore a French uniform and gave off a familiar air.

"We found this French soldier nearby! He said he knows you!" The French soldier explained hurriedly, then he stepped away to allow the other two men to drag the soldier forward. They forced him to his knees and ripped the sack off his head.

The nations gasped. "France!?"

* * *

Slowly, Italy staggered to his feet, again. No sooner was he up right, a sword was thrust into his good hand by Napoleon, who seemed to have become quite frazzled. Italy just gaped at Napoleon at a loss for words, his eyes darting from the short man to the Germans and back, repeatedly. After what had just happened, was this man seriously still trying to get him to kill Holy Rome? What did he expect? For Italy to kill Prussia and Bavaria, too—

Oh no…Italy's eyes widened in shock.

"You don't seriously expect me to take on all three of them, do you!? These are my friends, you monster!" Italy shouted over the now loudly drizzling rain. "Yet just a moment ago you were ready to kill your own lover!" Napoleon snapped, taking Italy's hurt wrist into his larger hand and forcing it a grasp a hold of the sword. Italy just stared gum-stuck at Corsican, taken aback by the words. "Now get to it, kill him!" Napoleon barked, slapping Italy hard on the back and sending the boy two steps forward. Bavaria and Prussia aimed their guns at Italy the second he took his first step, albeit, Prussia a bit more reluctantly. They weren't loaded, but the bayonets would serve as good weapons still if Italy really did attack.

Italy's legs locked in place as soon as he realized his position; he was standing before Holy Rome holding a sword as Holy Rome's brothers pointed their guns and bayonets at him. The situation couldn't get any worse.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! _

Gunfire thundered through the air and half of Napoleon's first line of soldiers fell to the ground, dead or dying. From the corner of his eye, Italy saw Napoleon jerk his head around to face the other end of the road, and then, a moment later, whipped around to face his men and yelled, "Fire at will! The enemy approaches!" Italy's eyes widened and he turned quickly to face the other end of the road as well, as did the Germans. Further down the dirt road, perhaps less than 100 yards, out of the forest brush emerged a small—but equal to Napoleon's—force of Austrian soldiers, and leading them was…no, Italy felt his stomach clench. Leading the troops was Hungary, Brandenburg, Hesse, Saxony, and even Spain and Romano. All the people Italy cared about were now on a battlefield…on the opposite side of Italy.

More gunfire sounded and this time some of the Austrian forces fell. "Italy, Holy Rome, come with us, quickly!" Hungary yelled. Italy froze. What was he to do? He had just tried to kill Holy Rome and had been ordered to do the same to Bavaria and Prussia. He could not return back to Austria's house after this, he could only do one of two things: Run away, like he always has and be the coward that he has always been thought to be…or he could end everything, here and now, and be who he really is—a strong, brave nation.

Italy caught Hungary's gaze briefly through the smoking, raining haze of the-now-battlefield. He looked into the green eyes of the woman who had raised him like a little brother, the woman he had betrayed once already, and mouthed his apologies under his breath. Seeing these actions, Hungary was briefly confused, until she suddenly realized—"Italy, don't—" Hungary's pleas fell on deaf ears as Italy gripped his sword tightly and rushed at the Germans.

He caught them off guard for a moment, as he could see their shock plainly on their faces, but Bavaria quickly reacted. He put himself between Italy and Holy Rome and readied to strike Italy with his bayonet. He didn't react quickly enough, however.

"Aghhh!" Bavaria groaned loudly in pain as Italy's sword stabbed into his gut. His efforts weren't in vain, though. "Ahh!" Italy cried out as the bayonet of Bavaria's gun sank into his side. He tore himself away from Bavaria, releasing himself of the blade and freeing Bavaria as well. Unfortunately, this meant their blood was free to flow as well. Bavaria quickly pressed his hand firmly to his wound to suppress the bleeding. Italy, however, did not have time to do such a thing.

"Napoleon, call a charge!" Italy shouted over his shoulder. "Don't order me around, you Latin-brat!" Napoleon shouted. But still, he ordered the charge. "Charge~!" Napoleon called out loudly. Almost instantly, the French soldiers broke formation and all rushed forward, right at the Austrians.

Hungary, never one to back down from a challenge, called a charge as well. And soon, the French and Austrian forces collided, and Italy and the Germans were caught in the fray. Italy coughed as the battlefield became clouded with gun smoke; the battle had just begun, and already he had lost track of the Germans, who had just moments ago stood only a few feet away from him.

Pressing one hand firmly to his side, and the other firmly griping his sword, Italy steeled himself. With one strike of his blade, the Austrian soldier closest to him fell, having had his spinal cord severed by Italy's blade. Stepping over the soldier's dead—or maybe dying—body, Italy set out to find Holy Rome.

* * *

"What do you mean we're leaving, bastard!? Veneziano is still in that mess!" Romano shouted angrily as Spain fled the battlefield. For once, Spain wasn't going to put up with Romano's behavior or demands. "Romano, this is serious! This isn't our fight and we aren't prepared to fight; don't worry, Hungary and the others will take care of it." Spain said seriously. Romano looked over his shoulder one last time as the battlefield disappeared in the distance, hoping Veneziano—that everybody—would be okay.

* * *

"Hey! The least you can do is untie me!" France shouted over the roar of battle at Hungary. He was currently tied up and slung over the back of Hungary's saddled like sack or animal carcass. He was irritated, humiliated, and quite frankly very uncomfortable. Hungary, at the moment, couldn't care less about France. Firing her pistol at yet another French soldier, Hungary shouted back, "Shut up, France!" Blatantly, she ignored him, of course.

Suddenly, another horse men burst forth from the carnage and barreled straight at Hungary. Hungary, however, was not stunned in the least, and unsheathed her rapier. She used it to block the horseman's bayonet, but her did not give up, and pulled his own gun and aimed with his spare hand at Hungary's head. Hungary's eyes widened, but she quickly gripped her horse' reigns and jerked, causing the steed to reel back on his hind legs, away from the other horseman. The horse took the bullet, though, and came back down on its front legs heavily, collapsing to the ground. Hungary dismounted quickly, not realizing that in the tussle, France had fallen off the horse and had now disappeared into the fray of the battle.

* * *

"Verdammit!" Prussia cursed, having been just shot in the shoulder. "We have to get out of here!" Brandenburg insisted, helping Prussia stand up again. They were on the edge of the battle field already, but Prussia was thoroughly against leaving the scene. "What about the others! Holy Rome is still in there and Italy is going to—" Prussia tried to protest. "Italy will be okay!" Brandenburg interrupted, not knowing or caring that Prussia was trying to tell her. Brandenburg dragged the injured Prussian away from the battle, Prussia having lost too much blood already to fight back, though he tried feebly. They trekked into the nearby woods, back to Austria's house.

* * *

Italy fought as hard as he could through the bloodshed of the battle, cutting down those who attacked him and shoving through the fighting as best he could, but being knocked here and there roughly along the way. The hand pressed to his side was now coated in red, and the wound Bavaria had inflicted was refusing to heal. Italy could feel his fatigue increasing ten-fold, and he felt on the brink of collapse.

He was smack dab in the middle of the battlefield, fighting and blood being spilled all around him. He had no idea where the other nations or Napoleon were, but he didn't care. He was only looking for one person—one nation: Holy Rome.

In the carnage, Italy scanned for Holy Rome's familiar figure; the one he had dreamt of for centuries. But now, he no longer desired to be with Holy Rome; he desired only the end of this suffering he had felt for so long. And it would only end with the Holy Roman Empire's destruction.

"Italy~!" Someone—the one Italy had been hunting for—called over the war cries and gunfire. Italy whipped around to see none other than Holy Rome standing just a few feet from him, holding a blood drenched sword with a vicious glare. Almost automatically, Italy charged at the German.

Holy Rome blocked Italy's blade him his own, initiating a power struggle between the two of them. Holy Rome clearly had the upper hand, as he was able to use both his hands, while Italy could only use one arm, as the other was pressed to his side, trying to suppress the bleeding.

"Why Italy? Why are you doing this?" Holy Rome asked through gritted teeth. He was so confused; half-caught between anger and hurt. "It's the only way this can end…with one of us dying…and, Holy Rome, I've almost died once because of you…I'm not going to let it happen, again!" Italy answered, trying his best to his best to keep Holy Rome's blade at bay. Holy Rome looked at Italy with shock. "What do you mean? I never did anything to—" "Shut up! I refuse to cry over you anymore—I won't fight for you anymore; I will now fight for myself—for my freedom! Now, shut up and fight, Holy Rome!" Italy yelled, something inside of him snapping. For the first time in his life…he was going to fight for himself. The hand that had been pressing his side now gripped the handle of the sword tightly, smearing it with Italy's blood.

Italy forced all his strength into pushing back Holy Rome's sword; slowly, and agonizingly, he was able to so, little by little. Holy Rome fought back, but even though he and Italy had even strength, he found himself losing. Suddenly, Italy pulled away though, shocking Holy Rome—until he found Italy's blade swing down slashing through his shoulder.

Holy Rome gasped as pain shot through his system, and blood sprayed through the hair, coating both him and Italy with the splatter. Before he could scream, though; before he could ask Italy, again, "Why?" he felt the cold, wet metal of Italy's sword slice through his chest and into his heart…

Holy Rome's eyes widened as he was impaled by…He stared at Italy in astonishment…he had really done it…Italy stared back into Holy Rome's eyes with coldness, his breathing labored…blood began to drip from Holy Rome's mouth…Italy's golden eyes began to soften…his breathing became more labored and erratic…his eyes widened and he gaped in horror as he realized what he had just done…H-He had…had…

"H-Holy Rome…I—I…" Italy stammered as released the sword as if it were on fire, staring down at his blood stained hands and soaking wet clothes. Holy Rome dropped to his knees, mud and water splashing as he did. Italy let out a heart wrenching sob and dropped to his knees as well, pulling Holy Rome's stunned form into a bone-crushing embrace of tears and pain. "W-What have I done!?" Italy sobbed.

Italy sobbed and wailed loudly over the falling rain and raging battle…two arms gently embrace Italy. Italy halted his sobs in shock, though his tears continued to fall…"Holy Rome?" Italy asked in minor shock as Holy Rome hugged him close, despite the fact the sword was still embedded in his chest.

"I still love you…I've loved you since the 900s…I wouldn't stop...I won't stop…for anything…not even death, Italy…" Holy Rome said with a smile.

Italy was stunned for several moments, before letting out a whole new round of sobs. Holy Rome knew this was the end, he realized…this truly was the fall of the Holy Roman Empire.

"I-I…love you, too—I always will Holy Rome! I s-swear—I always will—" Italy suddenly drew a hunting dragger from his boot and held it to his own throat—but Holy Rome quickly grabbed Italy's hand, yielding the action. "Don't…Italy…I love you…So—so please…live…" Holy Rome said. Italy shook his head, tears and snot running down his already rain covered face. "N-No…H-Holy Rome…I-I love you!" Italy protested. Holy Rome shook his head, and gave Italy a gentle, loving smile…the life was fading from his blue eyes…His very body began to dissolve as the hand that had been gripping Italy's hand began to disappear.

Italy choked a sob as he felt Holy Rome's presence—the presence of a nation—begin to fade away. The others would soon sense it, too, Italy and HRE both knew.

Italy dropped the dagger to the muddy Earth, and grabbed the sword embedded in Holy Rome's chest; he yanked it out with a sickening _squish!_ Holy Rome let out a grunt of pain, but for the most part of relived for the sword's absence in his chest. Italy pulled Holy Rome into a tight embrace…and cried…and cried…and cried…

He cried until Holy Rome disappeared…

He never saw France watching him from a distance, with sad understanding…nor did he see France leave the battle field along with Napoleon, who had called a retreat as they left…

Italy's vision began to blur and blacken…the exhaustion…the blood loss…the exposure…they were finally getting to him finally…

Italy collapsed face first into the bloody mud of the battle field just as the last of Napoleon forces fled…

* * *

"Holy Rome has fallen." France stated solemnly.

"Good…That boy…Italy…I admire is strength and bravery…" Napoleon said solemnly as he, France, and their soldiers retreated. France nodded his agreement.

"The poor boy…losing someone he was so close to…you must have felt the same when Jeanne D'Arc died…" Napoleon continued. France, again, nodded his agreement.

He remained solemn and he, nor Napoleon, spoke another word for the rest of their journey.

* * *

"V-Veneziano!? What happened?" Romano asked frantically as Hungary, Bavaria, and Hesse returned to the mansion, dragging with them an unconscious, injured Veneziano. "He was injured somehow in the battle…we—we couldn't find…Holy Rome, though…" Hungary explained. "Who cares about that German bastard—help my baby brother you bastards—help him!" Romano begged. Immediately, the servants took over, taking Veneziano away to tend to his wounds, and Hungary sending a messenger to get a doctor.

Romano tried to follow the servants that had taken away his brother, but Spain held him back. "Let them work, Romano…He'll be okay, don't worry." Spain told the young Italian teen. Romano allowed Spain to lead him away from the other nations; Bavaria and Hesse were having their wounds tended to by the servants, Hungary, who was less injured than the others, was mourning Holy Rome's loss, Prussia was upstairs having his wound taken care of, and Brandenburg was with, and Austria was still knocked out up stairs.

Several hours later, Romano was allowed a brief visit to Italy's bedroom, where he lay unconscious in his bed. He was flushed with a fever from his exposure to the cold rain and exhaustion. His wounds were wrapped tightly with bandages. He looked like Hell, Romano thought as he sat by his brother's bedside, crying.

Romano wept over his poor brother's state…he cursed Spain for taking him away from the battle…he cursed Holy Rome, where ever he was, for causing his little brother so much pain…he cursed himself for being such a bad big brother…if Veneziano had died out there, he would have died believing Romano hated him or something…Romano never would have been able to forgive himself.

"F-Fratello…?" A weak, girlish voice asked with clear strain. Romano wiped away his tears hurriedly and looked at Veneziano with surprise. Veneziano was awake—barely—and looked at him with…heartbroken eyes. Tears slipped down his cheeks silently, leaving Romano baffled. Why was Veneziano crying?

"F-Fratello…p-please, promise m-me…d-don't ever…ever let me…fall in…fall in love…again…I don't...want...want to be hurt like this...ever again..." Italy begged, his breathing labored and it was clear would fall unconscious again soon. Romano was shocked by the request, but he was unable to refuse. "I promise. I promise, Veneziano." Romano answered with finality. Veneziano smiled at him briefly, and thankfully, before falling unconscious again.

Romano remained at his side, promising himself to keep his promise to his brother, forever. He would never let his little brother get hurt like this, again.

* * *

Austria awoke the next day with no memories of anything that had happened the day before. He was alerted of Holy Rome's death by Hungary, and was deeply saddened.

He arranged a funeral for the young nation, and all of the Holy Romano Empire, along with Spain and Romano attended. The only one absent was Italy, who remained in a comatose.

* * *

Two weeks after the battle, Italy awoke finally.

"Italy, thank god! You're awake!" Hungary had cheered when the boy's eyes fluttered open. She had been putting some fresh flowers in the vase by his bedside and was surprised, but overjoyed by the development.

Italy smiled up from where he layed, cheerfully and brightly, as he was always a morning person. "Good morning, Ms. Hungary!" Italy cheered, slightly wincing as he tried to sit up. He was confused by this.

"Lay back down, Italy. You're still injured." Hungary ordered in a stern but motherly tone. Italy gave her a quizzical look. "Why am I injured?" He asked. Hungary started, with confusion and worry, "Don't you remember the ba—" She halted herself, though.

"Italy, what is the last thing you remember?"

"Well…uh…I remember having dinner with you and Austria…and Austria got a letter from the war front; I don't remember what is was about. But wait, what happened to me?"

Hungary remained quiet for several moments…

"You had an accident…you slipped and tumbled down a few flights of stairs…you've been in a coma for months…" Hungary lied.

Italy was shocked, of course, but accepted the answer.

The next day, he was back to work. All the Germans had already left, as did Romano and Spain. Everything went back to normal it seemed.

* * *

"I tried telling Italy of Holy Rome's demise…" France said.

Hungary gave him an angry glare. "Why would you do that? I thought we weren't going to tell him until he was ready?" She yelled.

"It doesn't matter…he didn't even know who Holy Rome was…it's better this way…I suppose." France said in response. Hungary calmed down.

"I suppose it is." She agreed solemnly.

* * *

"Oh, he's so~ cute!" Italy cheered along with Hungary.

Prussia and Brandenburg had come for a visit to Austria's house, and had brought along someone special. Their new little brother, Germany.

The little toddler had a bowl cut of silvery blond locks and light blue puppy-dog-like eyes. He was also very shy; he hid his blushing face in Prussia shoulder and clutched to his big brother as if his life depended on it. Not once in the short time he had been in the mansion, had his feet touched the floor, as he would either be held by Brandenburg or Prussia. He was dressed in black britches, white stockings, black shoes, and a little Prussian blue coat. He was an absolutely adorable sight, which both Prussia and Brandenburg seemed very proud of.

"We can't stay long, sorry. We really just wanted to some and show off how cute he is. Say goodbye, Germany." Brandenburg told the toddler sweetly. He brought his face out of Prussia's shoulder and mumbled a, "Goodbye" then quickly hid again. Prussia, Brandenburg, and Hungary all laughed, as Italy, now dressed in boy's clothes, as his voice had changed now everyone knew he was a boy, wished the tiny boy a goodbye as well.

Several moments later, as they returned home, Germany asked shyly, "Big Sister, who was that boy?" Brandenburg gave her curious little brother a sweet smile and explained, "That's Italy—well, one of them. You'll probably see more of him when you're older. We're going to be busy, though, for the next couple of decades, so you'll have to wait, little one." "Have I ever met him before?" Germany asked curiously. "No, why?" Prussia asked in confusion. Germany looked at both his older siblings and caretakers with a confused look.

"I saw him in a dream. A dream I had right before I woke up for the first time and you found me, brother." He explained.

Prussia and Brandenburg were speechless.

**The End**

**A/N: Haha, i just realized the very last line of this story is the same one I used for the last line in chapter 2 of my story "Lucky Prussia". If you'd like to see more of Brandenburg and Prussia, check it out. For now, I hope that you all enjoyed my interpretation of Holy Rome's death and how Italy lost his memories. **

**Au Revoir!**


	17. Chapter 17

Hey, Guys! It's me, Vampire Authoress!

I was thinking: Do you guys want a sequel?

If so, here are some options you can choose from:

One: It's 1943 and Italy starts remembering what he did.

Two: It's the 1860s' and Italy is in his late teens, now he is running away from Austria's house, again,

to gain his independence, and this time, he's determined to do it.

Three: A look at Italy's teen years in general after Holy Rome's death; only Italy's behavior is surprising.

What do you think? Tell me in the reviews, please & thank you.

See ya, Hetalians!


	18. Chapter 18

The 'Aye's have it!

Coming soon, to a fanfiction website near you...

"The Runaway Reawakens"

A mix of choices 1 and 2 is in the making people; as a matter of fact, I'm working on chapter three right now! I warn you, though—this one may be much longer than its predecessor. But hey, some of you may be happy about that!

Now I will be posting the first chapter as soon as chapter 3 is complete—you may be displeased or happy to hear that I will only be posting a new chapter when the two chapters after it are done, with the exception of the final chapter of course.

I will alert you all when I have posted the sequel, and then you can go on my profile and check it out, it will be under the name, "The Runaway Reawakens".

Like the title?

I thought about it for a long time, and trust me, if you think this is a cheesy title, trust me, this one had a variety of precursors that were far worse; see, "The Lost Memories of a Useless Italian" and "The Reawaking of North Italy" as examples.

Anyways…

Any suggestions? Any requests? Does anyone want to see more action? Maybe a little bit more GerIta love? Or maybe less romance?

Just tell me and I'll what I can do.

Review, or PM if your suggestion is kind of racy, because my mom reads my reviews and I don't want her to see any requests for lemons or limes or hot-gay-anything, okay?

Anyways, I hope to update soon.

Bye Guys!

Miss Vampire Author out!


	19. Chapter 19

Attention! Attention!

I Have a very, very important announcement...

Today, 2/18/13, I will be posting the official sequel to _Holy Rome's Death & Italy's Memories._

The story will go by the name _The Runaway Reawakens_ and I hope you all enjoy it.

I hope to see all you loyal reviewers commenting on the sequel and I dearly wish for you all to be happy with where the story goes.

Au Revoir!


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